Employee of the Month book 1, Hiraeth
by TheLoud
Summary: Complete! The Christmas of 1981, just after the end of the First Wizarding War, wasn't so merry for all the characters. Who is this guy running from his past, trying to make it in the muggle world? What does he mean by the word "muggle," anyway? Warning: it contains some disturbing stuff. The wizarding world belongs to J.K. Rowling.
1. Chapter 1

1

The pizzeria door was padlocked when they got to work. A large note was taped to it. It read:

CLOSED

Out of Business

Thank you, customers, for your patronage!

"Thank you, customers?" quoted Beth, outraged. "Customers? What about your fucking employees? You owe us two weeks' pay! You couldn't even tell us you were closing?" But of course, her shouted "you" referred to the owner, who wasn't there and couldn't hear her.

Beth was just about to punch her fist into the wall when she heard laughter behind her. She spun around to glare at her coworker, well, former coworker as of today. "What's so funny?" she demanded, but he couldn't answer. She was about to tell him off, because he was laughing and he was there, but it occurred to her that she didn't really know him, and he appeared, at the moment, to have totally cracked, so antagonizing him further might be dangerous. She watched him laughing for a while, until he seemed to completely run out of energy and collapsed to his knees on the sidewalk, his hands over his face as if trying to stifle his laughter.

Through his laughter, he muttered something that sounded sort of like, "I can't even make it in the muggle world," which didn't make any sense, since "muggle" wasn't a word. He must have said "fucking" instead.

His breakdown had a calming effect on Beth. Someone had to be calm in this situation, so it would be her. She unclenched her fist, denying her wall-punching urge. "John," she said firmly. "It's going to be OK," as if saying it would make it so.

He seemed willing to accept this. He pulled a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. He looked up at her as if expecting her to next provide a solution to this problem.

Beth hadn't planned this far ahead, but she'd be damned if she was going to let that show. "We can get different jobs," she said. "He'd better give me a good reference, and as your supervisor I'll give you a great one of course. How long are you OK for? I know you just got hired two weeks ago, so I suppose you don't have much saved, and tomorrow's the first of December. Do you have enough for your rent?"

John finished wiping his face, folded his handkerchief neatly, put it back in his pocket, stood up, and brushed off his knees. He seemed embarrassed by his outburst. "Please don't trouble yourself on my account," he said in that oddly old-fashioned way he had. "You worked here much longer than I, so I'm sure this is more of a shock to you."

"So you can cover your rent?" Beth persisted, for other people's problems were suddenly much more interesting than her own.

"I'm fine," he said. "It's been a pleasure working with you. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. I do apologize for bringing my bad luck with me. It tends to spill over to those unfortunate enough to be near me. I won't trouble you with it again." He turned abruptly on his heel and walked away.

Was it wrong to take comfort in the fact that someone was worse off than her? She chased after him and grabbed his shoulder. He spun to face her again, batting her hand away. "Stay away from me, Beth," he said with an odd empty calmness. "I'm dangerous. I ruin everything I touch."

Now was her turn to laugh. "It's just a job, John. You don't have to get all dramatic about it. And you're a very good worker, I'm sure you can get another one, no problem. You just need to look at things rationally. So, you do have your next month's rent?"

"I don't pay rent," he muttered sullenly. "I've been sleeping in the park."

Beth blinked as she digested this information. He didn't smell homeless. He did look a bit shabby, though.

"I've been cleaning up in the men's room at work," he explained, noticing her confused sniff. "I just put the Closed for Cleaning sign up and enjoyed the luxury of my own private spa."

"And you still had time to get the restrooms the cleanest I've ever seen them," she said. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting another job, there are always toilets that need scrubbing."

This praise didn't seem to cheer him. "You're too kind," he said. "The toilets will have to scrub themselves from now on. I won't trouble anyone in this world with my bad luck again."

Beth grabbed him before he could walk away again. "We might be unemployed, but I'm still your supervisor," she said sternly. "Here's the plan. We will buy a newspaper. We will look through the want ads for jobs. You will use my phone to call about jobs. You will sleep on my couch and use my shower so you look presentable for interviews. You will cease this pathetic self-pitying claptrap about not troubling this world with your bad luck."

He seemed to make an effort to sort himself out. He stretched out of his slouch and looked up at the sky, his pale throat arching from the collar of his thin jacket, too light for the cold. Then he stood with more confidence, like a man who wasn't having a breakdown. "Yes boss," he said. "But I need to pay you rent. I'm not going to accept free space in someone else's flat ever again."

"It's fine."

"It wasn't fine. It was a disaster."

"What happened?"

John thought. "You're right, though, if I want a job, it'll really help to have a phone and an address. I have literally nothing now, but I'll pay you back and move out as soon as I can."

Beth bought a newspaper at a newsstand. John took a scrap of paper and a pencil out of his pocket and wrote down the price of the newspaper as Beth stared at him. "You're going to do that about bus fare, too, aren't you?"

He nodded solemnly. "I won't accept charity. I will pay you back."

"Whatever. Come on, let's go to the bus stop and I'll show you my flat. I'm afraid it's not really tidy enough for visitors at the moment, but I'm sure it's better than the park in December."

"I'll clean it," he said. "Not that I'm saying it's dirty, I just mean I'll do my share of chores."

"I know you can clean," she said. "But that's not why I'm making this offer. You were worrying me with that talk of not troubling this world anymore. I mean. Not like I really know you or anything, but that's not right. Do you want to call a friend? You can use my phone."

He shook his head. Then he got out his scrap of paper and pencil stub again to write down the bus fare.

—-

"Like I said, it's not much," she said as she unlocked the door.

"You have a cat," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have mentioned. Are you allergic?"

"No, it's just that cats don't like me."

"You're more of a dog person, are you?"

There was a long pause, then, "I hate dogs. But cats hate me, generally."

"Oh, Marmalade's a real sweetheart, she likes everyone," said Beth, as her formerly sweet cat stared at her visitor, arched her back, bristled her fur, bared her teeth, extended her claws, and made a snarling hiss Beth had never heard before. "Um."

John and Marmalade had a staring contest for nearly a minute. Marmalade finally started trembling, then bolted to the bedroom.

"Sorry," said John. "I should just go."

Beth grabbed his arm again and looked him in the eye. "You are a human being," she said. He looked away. "Look at me. I said look at me. You are more important than a cat. Marmalade will just have to deal with you being here. Here's the couch. Sorry, I guess it's kind of short. Anyway, I'll get some bedding for you."

"Thank you," he said. "Just leave it folded, I'll make my bed at night and give you your couch back in the morning."

"Make yourself at home," she said. "Kitchen, bathroom, living room. Bedroom's mine of course."

"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't want to disturb Marmalade. I'll go freshen up," and he went into the bathroom.

Beth hurriedly did what tidying she could, although it wasn't too bad. Then she opened the newspaper on the kitchen table and got some pens, red and blue, for circling ads. She chose the red one.

John was out of the bathroom in a few minutes, looking slightly less scruffy.

"Sorry, the litter box was due for a cleaning," she said.

"Don't worry, I did it while I was in there," he said.

"You didn't have to do that," she said.

"I did, actually. So, what jobs do we have here?" He sat in the other chair and picked up the blue pen.

They were startled from their reading by a tapping on the window. An owl was tapping on the glass!

John looked from the owl to Beth. "Do you often get owls here?" he asked. When she shook her head, wide-eyed, he said, "Then I suppose that's for me," embarrassed. "Could you please just pretend this isn't happening?" He got up to open the window. The owl flapped in and perched on the back of his chair. As John took a roll of paper off its leg, he said, "I suppose you don't have any owl treats. I wonder if it would like cat food. May I?" He picked up Marmalade's food dish and put it on the table in front of the owl, which looked at it skeptically, then sampled a piece of kibble. Apparently pleased, it chowed down as John unrolled the paper and read it. He rerolled the paper and tucked it into his pocket. Then he grabbed the pad of paper on the table and poised his pen over it. Before he wrote, he looked at Beth nervously. "I don't want to impose further upon your hospitality," he said. "Nor to I want to postpone my job hunt, which is of course essential. But this is a rather time-sensitive matter. My old flat, well, the flat were I stayed until Halloween, has finally been officially cleared for re-entry. I'll be able to take my belongings back. Of course, since no one's paying rent there now, who knows what will happen if I leave it there until tomorrow. The landlord will just chuck it out or sell it or something. So I have to go get my stuff now if I'm going to get it at all."

"What?" didn't seem like an adequate response to this, but it was all she had.

John looked at the owl, which was still happily eating. He brought it Marmalade's water dish too, first filling it with fresh water from the tap. Then he sat down and took a deep breath.

"For the last three years," he started, "I've been living with a friend in his flat. Well, I was away a lot, but when I was in town I stayed with that friend. Well, I thought he was a friend. He got arrested the day after Halloween. Our flat, his flat really, was seized by law enforcement that day. They've been searching it for evidence and contraband and such for the last month, supposedly, although I don't see how it could take them that long, it's not like we had that much stuff. I shouldn't complain. They must have been busy. Anyway, I never officially lived there, my name wasn't on the lease, and frankly I don't want to be associated with him or his flat anymore, but an acquaintance of mine in law enforcement knows I used to live there, and he very kindly sent me this note to say that today I'll have an opportunity to get my stuff without anyone noticing. So. It's not a lot of stuff, really. I'm sure I could fit it all in my school trunk. It would fit here, it would be like a table by the couch, you could rest drinks on it."

This required a response, but she'd got a bit stuck on the word "arrested." She tried to make sense of what he'd just said. "So, you want to bring your stuff here?"

"Yes."

"Of course. Especially if you have better interview clothes."

"I have clothes that I haven't been wearing for a month straight, which is bound to be an improvement." He wrote a note and tied it to the owl's leg. It seemed full of cat food by now, and content. John smiled as he ran his fingers through the owl's feathers. The owl closed its eyes and leaned into his hand in pleasure. Apparently in addition to cat people and dog people, there were also owl people. "Please take this note straight back to Alastor Moody," he told the owl. "Thank you." He opened the window, and the owl flew away.

John refilled Marmalade's water and food dishes and returned them to the floor. Then he got out his scrap of paper and pencil again and jotted down a note. "I'll reimburse you for the cat food too of course. We'll work this out later. I'll be back in a few hours. Oh. Um. Please don't tell anyone about the owl. No good would come of it. They'd think you mad, or worse, believe you." And he was gone.

Beth couldn't quite concentrate on reading job ads after that, but it was embarrassing how much cleaner the bathroom was.

—-

Sure enough, a few hours later, there was a buzz on the intercom, then a knock on the door. Beth, Marmalade weaving around her ankles, opened the door with some trepidation.

Marmalade had no qualms about bolting for the bedroom as soon as she saw their visitors, but Beth's socialization inhibited her from reacting the same way, as much as she wanted to. There was John, wearing a warmer-looking coat, with a battered brown trunk, as expected. She hadn't expected a second man, burly and grizzled, with an eyepatch, a wooden leg, and a face with even worse scars than John's. He gripped a stout walking stick in his beefy hand. He had a beautiful trunk with him, black with silver trim, with the unfortunate monogram S.O.B. in silver letters.

"Beth," said John. "Allow me to introduce Alastor Moody. He very kindly offered to help me move my things. Alastor, this is Beth Smyth. She most graciously offered me a place to stay."

Alastor looked in at Beth's flat and spoke to John with disbelief. "You really would rather stay here than at my place?"

"Well," said John. He didn't have a response to that.

"Come in," said Beth.

"Thank you," said John as they did. "Anyway, Beth, I'm terribly sorry, but Alastor insisted on me taking two trunks worth of stuff, both Sirius's and my own. He assures me that it's all been thoroughly inspected, and contains no contraband."

"Probably not much of real value either," apologized Alastor. "Inspectors tend to pocket that stuff I'm afraid, when they know no one will call them on it. There's no way Black's getting out of prison alive, and his family disowned him years ago, so essentially no one owns this stuff now. The inspectors basically just looted your place."

"Shouldn't it go towards reparations for the victims' families?" asked John. "Perhaps it should be auctioned off, and the money distributed—"

Alastor laughed. "Considering the number of victims and the number of surviving family members we'd have to track down? Feel free to do all that work yourself."

John sighed. "Those inspectors even took my chocolate stash."

"Well of course," said Alastor. "You always have the good stuff. The hazelnut ones were particularly good."

John turned from Alastor to Beth. "The trunks could be like end tables," he said. "One on either side of the couch. Or like a coffee table in front, however you like. I'm very sorry to take up so much space, I'll sell all of Sirius's stuff as fast as possible. The trunk itself is worth something at least."

"It's fine," she said. "Would you like some tea?" for after positioning the trunks, Alastor seemed to be in no rush to go. He prowled around the living room as if searching it for contraband, valuables, or chocolate.

"Tea would be lovely," said John. "I brought some, and my tea set. I'll make it." He got said items from his brown trunk and took them to the kitchen.

Alastor fixed his one-eyed gaze on Beth. "How well do you know, what did he tell you his name was, John?" he asked.

"Hardly at all, really," she said. "We worked at the same place for two weeks. I was his supervisor, so I know he's a really hard worker. We both lost our jobs today when the place closed, so we're job hunting together. It hit him hard. I think he's had a run of really bad luck."

"That he has," said Alastor darkly. "He's a good man. He deserves better than this."

Beth wondered if he meant her flat.

John returned in a surprisingly short time with a pretty tray of tea things, which he set on his battered brown trunk. "John is my real middle name," he said firmly to Alastor. "Lots of people go by their middle names. There's nothing deceptive about it." Then he went back to the kitchen for one of the two chairs so they could all sit down. He served the tea to all and sat down to drink his, briefly looking as content as the owl.

"What's this about you job hunting?" Alastor barked at John. His dainty teacup looked absurd in his massive, scarred hands. "You know you have a job in my department any time you want it. And a guest room in my house, too. What the hell are you doing here?"

John's enjoyment of his tea vanished. "I just... I can't. I need a break. I need to be away for a while. At least until the festivities have died down." He put his tea down on his trunk, got up, and walked away to look out the window.

Beth didn't understand why John suddenly ducked, but his motivation became clear when Alastor's heavy wooden staff swung through the space John's head had occupied a moment before. Alastor had gotten up to attack John faster than Beth could see.

John's drop to the floor flowed smoothly into a sweep of his leg, knocking Alastor's legs, both the regular and the wooden, out from under him. Alastor fell heavily forward onto the floor where John had been a moment ago, but John had already rolled away and sprung to his feet, wrenching the staff out of Alastor's hands as he did so. He swung it at Alastor's head as he lay on the floor, slowing it only at the very last moment to tap him lightly. "Boop," John said as the staff touched Alastor's grizzled hair. "You're dead."

"Boop?" complained Alastor as he rolled to face John, although his scarred face was twisted into a lopsided grin. "Skull smashing does not go boop. It's not bad enough that you beat me every time, you have to humiliate me too?"

"You humiliate yourself every time you challenge me," said John. "Give up. I mean it. I'm tired of this game."

"I'll get you one of these days," said Alastor as John helped him up and handed his staff back to him. "Your talents are wasted here. We could really use you in my department."

John reclaimed his tea and sat down again. "Maybe I'm tired of being used," he said quietly after a sip. "Now if you will excuse us, we have some job hunting to do."

"Well, let me know if you change your mind," grumbled Alastor. "Nice meeting you," he added, with the barest glance at Beth as he left.

John looked at Beth. "More tea?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He poured some more for himself, and clearly tried to reclaim the enjoyment of it he'd felt before, but didn't quite manage.

Beth tried to find her voice. "That man. Alastor. Does he really work for the government?"

"Yes," said John. He shrugged, acknowledging the absurdity of this claim. "Not your government of course," he admitted.

She waited, but no more information was forthcoming. "There's a lot you're not telling me," she said.

"Obviously."

"So will you tell me?"

"No point. If you know too much, the Obliviators will come by to erase your memories. They aren't always as skillful as they should be. They sometimes erase too much. I'll do my best not to show or tell you anything they'd need to erase."

Beth did not find this reassuring.

John drank his tea. "The important thing is, I'm quite done with all that, so I'll be doing my best to live like one of you for the indefinite future. My first month was not a success, I'll admit. But I'm game to try. I very much appreciate your help."

"Can I ask more questions?"

"You just did, so yes. Sorry. Ask away. I won't give you any answers you're not allowed to know."

"Am I in danger because you're here?"

Answering this apparently required a refill of his teacup. "Well. You were actually in danger before, you just didn't know it. There's been a war going on here for several years. Whenever one of us harms one of you, our Obliviators do their best to erase all evidence of the crime. They make up some believable excuse like saying it was a gas explosion or something. Crimes of this sort have been happening rather a lot recently. I might be able to stop that from happening to people in my immediate vicinity. I've had some success with this in the past. That's why Alastor wants to hire me. That's what his department does, fight crime." He shrugged. "On the other hand, Alastor isn't the only person familiar with my reputation for thwarting criminals. The criminals have caught on as well. It's possible they'd choose to target you just to bother me. I'm sorry, I should have told you that from the beginning. Before you kick me out immediately, I will say that things have changed quite a lot in the last month. On Halloween..." His trembling hands put the teacup down before he spilled it. "Despite the efforts of a traitor in our own ranks, the leader of a very powerful terrorist group was killed. His followers are disorganized and discouraged, fleeing and hiding rather than attacking. The war is essentially over, except for some tidying up. Alastor's department is very busy tracking down and capturing the remnants of that organization. He wants my help with that."

"But you've had enough fighting." Beth drank some more of her tea. It was excellent tea, much better than the teabags she usually used.

"I never enjoyed fighting," he said. "But it had to be done, and I happen to be good at it. My friends and I were in an unofficial, well, I guess you might call it a guerrilla group. I like to think we were less corrupt than the official group Alastor's in, although there's some overlap in membership. The organization of which I was a member, well, one could say it's no longer active, as most of the members are dead, and it's no longer recruiting new ones. Alastor's department had a similar casualty rate, and is desperate for replacements. They're recruiting quite actively as you saw."

"Who would want to join something with a high casualty rate?" asked Beth rhetorically.

"I would, actually," said John, annoying Beth, who'd thought she was following. "It's a job that needs to be done, and I can't think of a better use for my life. In the interest of full disclosure, there's one more thing you should know before deciding if you want to help me or not. I'm trying to think of a way to tell you that doesn't violate the Statute of Secrecy. This is something that Alastor doesn't know. If he did, he'd definitely stop nagging me with his job offer. His department doesn't employ just anyone. They have very strict requirements, and do a thorough background check of all applicants. I wouldn't pass. I have one huge disqualification for the job he wants me to take, and if I told him what it is, he wouldn't just stop nagging me, he'd, well, have to sort of arrest me. I don't know if he would, since he's not exactly a stickler for following the rules, but I don't want to risk it. Thus we're trapped in this stalemate where I have to keep saying no to a job I want."

John's hands were steady enough to hold his teacup again. "So, my one reference, who claims I'm a good man undeserving of my recent luck, doesn't actually know me well enough to have given me that reference. You know, the more I think about this, the more I realize that you definitely should not take me in. Tea always helps me think more clearly." He looked at the two trunks. "I'd rather sleep in the park than be Alastor's live-in martial arts teacher slash punching bag, but now I have actual stuff to stash somewhere. I know. I'll ask Frank and Alice to store these for me. They're not the closest of friends, but they're still alive, which counts for something. I wouldn't impose on them for crash space, and they've been so busy with their baby recently that we've lost touch, but I'm sure they wouldn't begrudge a bit of storage space." He looked at Beth. "I don't actually need a phone to get a job, I can show up in person like I did when I saw that help wanted sign at the pizzeria. Employers can't all be that unreliable, can they? Are you done with your tea?"

This conversation was putting Beth in danger of whiplash. "What? Oh. Yes. I'm done. Thank you, it was delicious. What brand was that?"

"Sorry, I don't think you can get it here." John took the tea set back to the kitchen. In a surprisingly short time, he brought it back, clean and dry, and packed it into his trunk again with steady, careful hands. "There's something about drinking tea that makes me feel human again." He locked his trunk and put the key in his pocket. He turned to her. "I would like to apologize for my most inappropriate outburst this morning. I— I have no excuse at all. I truly do not wish to impose upon your kindness. Now, it will take me two trips, but I'll get these trunks out of here today, and if fortune smiles upon you, you'll never see me again."

"Wait. What? You're leaving?"

"I'm finally thinking clearly. I can't believe I was seriously considering imposing on you. You don't even know me. I don't really know you."

"You're still not thinking clearly. I mean, you've been sleeping in a park for a month, which can't have been very restful. Now instead of just being sleep-deprived, you're sleep-deprived and caffeinated."

"Even when I'm well-rested, well-fed, and full of tea, I apparently have terrible taste in flatmates. I can't tell a friend from a mass-murderer."

"Is there any way I can show you which one I am?"

"Well, murdering me would be a pretty clear indication. Although I am a challenge. Alastor tries it every time he sees me and he hasn't managed it yet." He looked at the two trunks. "I need to contact Frank and Alice, I don't want to just show up on their doorstep. I could— I'll just nip into the kitchen and close the door, and you won't pay attention to how I send the message so there won't be anything to erase from your memory later."

"You've got some super secret spy phone, eh?"

"Something like that, yes. To be honest, there's much to be said for ordinary phones, but Frank and Alice don't have one."

"John, stop. Just stop. This morning you were a hard-working pizzeria employee and now you're this international man of mystery."

"Not international. I'm just Welsh. Although we moved a lot when I was a child, it was all in the UK."

"Are you supposed to be on some sort of medication? This story isn't even internally consistent."

John laughed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. It would be easier for you to think me mad. I'm just a man with a talent for scrubbing toilets, some peculiar delusions, and an acquaintance who's odd by anyone's standards."

The room was suddenly full of a brilliant silver light as a ram galloped out of nothingness to face John. It appeared to be made of glowing silver, yet moved like a living animal, pawing at the dingy grey carpet and tossing its head, heavy with huge, rough, curling horns. It opened its mouth and spoke in Alastor's gruff voice. "We need you. Frank and Alice didn't check in, and they're not replying to me. Meet us at the apparition point by their house." Then the silver ram vanished.

"Fuck," said John. He gave an apologetic glance to Beth. "See you later, I hope." Then he vanished as well, making a loud cracking noise as he popped out of existence.


	2. Chapter 2

2

He wasn't back that evening, when she made dinner for one. He wasn't back the next day, when she petted Marmalade until she was sure her voice was steady enough to call the numbers in the want ads she'd circled. He wasn't back when she studied bus schedules and plotted her routes, or when she carefully dressed and did her hair and makeup and tried to impress interviewers. He was one of the many people who did not leave messages on her answering machine, but that was to be expected, as his kind apparently communicated via glowing silver livestock instead of telephones, because of course they did.

The tea must have been hallucinogenic. That was the only explanation. She could almost believe that he and his strange friend had entirely been a hallucination brought on by the stress of losing her job, if not for the two trunks still serving as coffee tables in her living room. Not that she had a lot of experience with hallucinations, but she didn't think it should be possible to set drinks down on them. The battered brown one at least supported drinks just fine. The black one looked too nice to suffer such an indignity without a coaster, and she didn't have a coaster.

After a week, she started to wonder if she'd inherited two trunks. She knelt by the battered brown one. It had a lock with one keyhole. John had put the key in his pocket before he'd left. She tried opening it. Locked of course, although she'd heard that the locks on these things were more symbolic than real. Any serious thief would just steal the whole trunk to break open in a more convenient location. Any serious thief would know how to pick a lock like this. Lock picking was not among the skills she listed on her CV, nor among the skills she possessed.

On to the black trunk, the one that made it necessary to specify that the brown trunk had only one keyhole. The black one had seven in a row. It also had two drawers with silver handles on each of the four sides, which did not have visible locks. She tried one of the drawers, the handle massive and cold in her hand.

The silver snakes decorating the hinges opened their emerald eyes, slithered to face her, hissed, flicked their tongues, and coiled to strike.

She hurriedly let go of the handle, and the snakes settled back into inanimate decorations.

—-

She was tired. Did she want to eat a snack, or just go straight to bed? She unlocked her door and entered her flat.

" _Petrificus totalis_!" shouted a hoarse voice and suddenly she was paralyzed and falling forward. " _Wingardium leviosa_ " added the voice, and she didn't hit the floor, just hovered a few inches above it.

John was back. "You look like Beth. You smell like Beth," he said, because apparently he could see in the dark, and was insane. "But I need some assurance that you actually are Beth. Damn it, I don't know you well enough to ask you security questions. Um, which part of the cooler was the cheese in? _Finite Incantatem_."

Beth fell the final few inches to the floor, and could move again. "What the fuck?"

"Answer the question. Prove you're Beth."

"The cheese was on the right side, but what do you mean, prove I'm Beth?"

"I believe you. You may get up now."

She got up, but was too disoriented to find the light switch. "Why is it dark in here?"

"I was asleep." The light flicked on, although John was nowhere near the light switch. He was by the couch. He squinted and looked down, away from the glare. "Oh, sorry, I just noticed I missed some blood on your carpet. _Scourgify_." He waved a stick at a red footprint and it vanished. Then he tucked the stick in the sleeve of his grey pajamas.

She didn't have to ask where the blood was from. It was clearly his. He looked like he'd been badly beaten up, or perhaps attacked by dogs. There were dark bruises and deep scratches on his face, and a bandage on his foot. His other foot was bare, and as crisscrossed with scars as his face and hands. "What happened to you?"

He sat on the couch, which now had sheets and blankets on it. "It's a long story, and I'm pretty tired. Could I tell you in the morning? What I can."

"Why did you come back?"

"Oh. You said I could stay here, but I quite understand if you've come to your senses and changed your mind. Just give me a moment to change back into my clothes and I'll be on my way." He started to push himself up off the couch again, but had trouble, as his arms were trembling. The adrenaline that had powered his paranoid response to being awakened was clearly spent.

"No, I'm not kicking you out, I just wanted to know why you came back. It's been nearly two weeks. I thought you'd changed your mind about staying here." Or were dead.

"I've got my first aid supplies in my trunk," he explained, indicating the brown one. "And I needed them." He burrowed under the covers on the couch. "Sorry to barge in," he said.

"I didn't give you a key," she said. "Duh, I'm sure you just reappeared the same way you left."

"Goodness no, it's quite rude to apparate directly into someone's home. I apparated to the alley outside your building and let myself in through the doors. I tried ringing and knocking first."

"But the doors are locked. Oh. Never mind."

"I'll be happy to set up a better security system when I have the energy for it. But now, I really don't mean to be rude, but I need to sleep."

"Of course. I'll see you in the morning." She turned off the light and went to her bedroom to comfort her quaking cat.

—-

She was awake before he was, but his eyes popped open the moment she stepped into the living room. He bolted upright and rushed to pull that stick out of the sleeve of his pajamas as she said, "The cheese is on the right side of the cooler."

He blinked, then laughed, and took his hand out of his sleeve without the stick. "Any security questions for me?"

"What type of leftover pizza didn't you eat?"

"What? I ate whatever I could get."

"Correct. You're you, whoever you are. I'm going to take over the bathroom for a while unless you need it."

"Fine. I'll try to sleep more."

His eyes were closed as her bathrobe-clad self walked past again in a puff of shower steam, although she didn't believe he was asleep. She dressed in her bedroom then went to the kitchen. "I hope you like cereal," she said when he limped in.

"I think we've established that I'm not picky," he said as he made tea and served them some, then got himself some cereal. That stick of his was involved in the tea-making process somehow. "So. First order of business. I'm now two weeks behind on rent, and out of some of the items in my first aid kit, so I need to get some money fast. I'll sell some of Sirius's stuff today."

"Rent? But you haven't even been here! It's December thirteenth already, the month is nearly half gone."

"My stuff has been here. And I'm not going to be in anyone's debt ever again. This isn't negotiable. Maybe I should improve the security here first before I run my errands. Or look at want ads. I'll need a more recent paper."

"No. First order of business is that you tell me what's going on."

They locked eyes for a while. Then he said, "I'm going to need more tea."

Once he was supplied, he reached for the pad of paper and pen on the table. "Maybe a diagram would help. Oh, is this your shopping list?"

"Yes. I've been running low on things."

"I'll try to fit this in my errands today. Anyway." He put the list aside to reach a blank sheet. "There are two worlds on this planet," he said, drawing a vertical line off-center. "Most people live in your world." He indicated the larger rectangle defined by the line. "And don't even know about the other." He indicated the smaller rectangle.

"What's the difference between the two worlds?"

"Well. Your people are constrained by the laws of physics. Mine, with sufficient training, can override them."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Not to you, no. There's no reasonable explanation in your world for why I can do this for example." He suddenly held a handful of blue flames in his left hand. "We call it magic. Nice parlor trick, eh? Showing you this is illegal, by the way. I'm placing a great deal of trust in you, that you won't tell anyone I'm violating the Statute of Secrecy." He thought a bit. "Although this is a pretty minor violation, on a par with jaywalking. It's the sort of thing they'd only bother prosecuting if someone in power had a grudge against me." He thought further. "Which many of them do. But they could find much worse dirt on me than this if they looked. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself." He extinguished the flames in his scarred fist. "Our schooling trains us to break the laws of physics, yet is rather deficient in teaching what they actually are and how to use them to our advantage. In recent centuries, your world has made great advances in technology, telephones for example. My world often seems stuck in the dark ages by comparison.

"I'm unusually familiar with your world because I'm the product of a mixed marriage. My mother was one of your kind. She taught me about things like telephones, light switches, your system of currency, and so on. I inherited my father's magical abilities, though."

"Wait, how was that allowed? Didn't your mother have to have her memory erased?"

"She agreed to tell no one. She kept my father's secrets and mine. My world works hard to maintain our secrets. Centuries ago, when your world knew about mine, well. I'm sure you can think of enough examples of a majority oppressing a minority. It was bad. Witch burnings and things."

"Wait. You're a witch?"

He smirked. "The term for the male version is wizard."

"Oh, of course. Sorry."

"It's not an insult, don't worry about it. Anyway, in recent centuries, we've made a concerted effort to give the impression that we don't exist.

"Not everyone in the wizarding world is content to hide," he continued. "They say that instead of concealing ourselves from you, we should instead conquer and enslave you. This is madness on multiple levels, practical and ethical, but this movement did make considerable headway in the last several years. That's what I've been fighting ever since I finished school. Their leader recruited followers who reveled in death and destruction. They brazenly tormented and murdered your kind to show their supposed superiority. They even targeted halfbloods, that is, those of mixed ancestry. Perhaps I should point out at this point that as I'm a halfblood myself, my opposition shouldn't be mistaken for some sort of noble heroism. It's self-preservation. Anyway, their leader finally met his end on Halloween, although at great cost to my side.

"We thought that with the death of their leader, their spirit would be broken, and in most cases it seemed to be, but not all of his followers gave up so easily. Four of them attacked Frank and Alice, who had built quite a reputation as fighters, although Alice has been on maternity leave recently. Alastor and I, and others, had to rescue them and track down their attackers. This was difficult. Frank and Alice are alive, just barely. They're in the hospital now. They may not recover. Their attackers are in prison and I hope they rot there.

"Frank and Alice had an excellent security system. We don't know how that was breached, and they're in no state to tell us. It's possible that their attackers approached them in disguise, as Frank's mother for example. It's possible to make a perfect disguise. Hence my security questions."

"That's how you got injured, capturing the people who attacked your friends?"

"Some of these injuries, yes. The more recent ones— Well, that's a separate issue." He looked at the paper with one vertical line on it. "This isn't much of a diagram. I wish it were that simple." He drew a small circle, bisected by the line. "There's also this group. I'm over here." He pointed to a spot in the circle, and also in the smaller rectangle. "People known to be in this circle are very unpopular whichever side of the line we're on. Very few people know I'm in this group. Alastor would stop offering me a job if he knew. People would shun me. I wouldn't be allowed into businesses, or homes, or given a job. There's a high likelihood I'd be, well, sort of arrested. Captured, anyway. Institutionalized. Subjected to experimental 'cures' that don't work. Euthanized."

"You were attacked recently," observed Beth. "By someone who knew you're in this group." She pointed to the circle.

Pause. "Yes." He clutched his teacup.

"So you couldn't ask Alastor for help, because he'd want to know why you were attacked."

"Yes."

"So that's why your friends are being cared for in a hospital while you try to patch yourself up with a first aid kit."

"Yes."

"That sucks."

"Would you like some more tea?"

"Yes please." He served her, then poured the last drops for himself. This tea was stronger now, dark and bitter for having steeped so long. "And you're not telling me what this circle represents because you don't know how I'd react."

"Yes. People generally don't react well."

"I'm not going to pry."

"Thank you. This has been more than enough about me. How have you been? How's your job search?"

"I started a new job just a couple days ago actually. I don't know if I'll stick with it. It's in a nightclub, so it takes up my evenings."

"Congratulations! I knew you'd find something, or you'll find something better if you don't like this. Tell me about it."

"Didn't you say you have errands to run?"

"You're right, of course. I'll clean up first." He gathered the breakfast dishes and brought them to the sink, then hesitated. "You could look away or just promise not to tell, upon pain of Obliviation."

"I pick promising not to tell."

"All right." He pulled that stick from the sleeve of his brown jumper, waved it at the dishes, and said a few words she didn't catch. Soon the dishes were washing and drying themselves, then flying to stack themselves on the shelves. The tea set found an empty cabinet to reside in.

Beth burst out laughing.

"Now you know my secret," John said. "I'm actually quite lazy. To clean up in the pizzeria, I'd just wave my wand and then read a library book to kill time."

Beth laughed harder. "It works. I'm not complaining."

"Speaking of books, I'm sure some of Sirius's are worth selling." He drew a set of keys from his pocket as he walked to the living room. He looked from the keys to the seven-holed lock with trepidation. "Finding them is going to be the problem." He put a key in the second lock and turned it. Then he pulled open one of the drawers, the same one Beth had tried. It glided open smoothly and silently. "Textbooks! There's no reason to keep these. I have duplicates of any of interest anyway." He started removing books and stacking them on the floor, first checking inside each one. "He wrote his name inside all these. Do you think that'll make them more or less valuable? Some collector might want the first-year herbology textbook of Sirius Black, infamous mass-murderer. Look at that signature."

Beth looked. It was truly beautiful calligraphy.

"I never want to see that name again," said John bitterly. He slammed it onto the stack with unnecessary force. The stack fell over, books spreading over the floor like a flock of birds fluttering paper wings. Small scraps of paper slipped from between the pages.

Beth picked up a scrap. A sloppy scribble quite different from the calligraphy read, "Lets steal one of these pods and stick it in S's bookbag."

Beth turned to John to hand it to him, but he was reading another handwritten note. As she approached, he hurriedly turned it over and looked up at her with suddenly teary eyes. "He saved the notes we passed in class," he said, his voice breaking. "That fool. He should have burned them." He took the note Beth was offering, read it, and stacked it on top of the other note. He then hurriedly gathered all the notes, shaking each book to find them before putting the books in tidy stacks. He put the notes in a folder in his own trunk.

Then he resumed opening drawers and finding books, and putting any notes in that folder. Each drawer, on all four sides of the trunk, was the length and width of the entire trunk. Then he opened the top to search the one large compartment inside, which was the size of the whole trunk and was not partitioned into drawers. Soon, the stack of books he'd selected to sell was larger than the trunk they'd come out of. "Those inspectors were ignorant," he commented. "Some of these books are quite rare, and worth rather a lot." He hesitated before adding some to the pile. "Well, maybe I have enough to carry for one trip." He put a few back in the trunk.

"I'll need a bag for these." He closed the trunk and locked it with the second key. Then he unlocked it with the third key and started opening drawers again. This time, they held no books, but coats, hats, and— "This'll work." He pulled out a black bookbag, monogrammed S.O.B. in silver. He also found a black scarf, slung it over the monogram casually, and waved his stick over it. The scarf stayed stuck, hiding the monogram, when he opened the bag and started placing book after book into it until it held them all. He hoisted the bag to his shoulder. "Not bad."

He put the bag down again and went to the kitchen. He was still limping, but this didn't dampen his enthusiasm for running errands. "I'm bringing your shopping list and mine. With luck, these books will pay for my half of the rent for December and some incidentals. You'll probably be at work by the time I return. I could save some sort of dinner for you, although I warn you I'm not a good cook."

"A midnight snack would be nice, but I can get it myself. I have to get used to this new schedule."

"And I promise not to attack you when you get home. Sorry. Alastor's paranoia rubs off on those unfortunate enough to spend a lot of time in his presence, and I'm jumpy when woken up anyway."

—-

"The cheese is on the right side," Beth said preemptively as she opened the door. She was greeted by a laugh from John, who, true to his word, did not attack her.

"How was work? You haven't told me about your job yet."

"It was... I'm awfully tired."

"Are you hungry? I made rarebit."

"Rabbit?"

"Rarebit. Cheese sauce on toast. I thought you might want something simple."

"Fine." She ate whatever he put in front of her. It was food.

"I'm sorry, I did warn you I'm not a good cook."

"What? No. This hits the spot. Who told you you're not a good cook?"

"Sirius."

"Liar."

"I know that now."

"This is delicious."

"My mum taught me to cook. But she was Welsh, which isn't regarded as one of the world's great cuisines. Sirius's family kept a chef, so I think he grew up with different expectations about food. We usually ate out, when we lived together. He always paid."

"Well lah di dah. Screw him and his stinking rich family."

"Precisely."

"I'd better go to bed so I don't fall asleep here and wake up with cheese in my hair."

"Goodnight Beth."

"Goodnight John."

"Before I forget." He handed her an envelope. "December's rent, rounded up to cover incidentals. We're even."

"Thanks."

She brushed her teeth to the sounds of kitchen tidying. She could get used to this.

—-

When she woke, a delicious smell led her to the kitchen. "Wow, you made a full English breakfast!"

"No I didn't," he said firmly, filling a plate for her and setting it on the table, and pouring the tea. "This is not an English breakfast."

"But it's got sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms—"

"This is not English. This is Welsh."

"What's the difference?"

"I'm Welsh, and I cooked it. And also it has laverbread. Which you don't have to eat, but I was in the mood for something traditional."

"What's laverbread?"

"It's not really bread. It's made of seaweed. It's that black stuff."

"Oh. It looks... interesting. Thank you very much for making breakfast." She dug in. It was really quite good. She was hungry enough to even eat the laverbread.

"It should include cockles too," he apologized, "but I didn't want to make an extra trip to the fishmonger. I noticed you hardly ate anything last night so I wanted to make sure you had a good breakfast."

"That's very kind of you," she said. "And I don't require shellfish in the morning." Fortified with breakfast, she felt more alert and observant. John's cuts and bruises were gone. Sitting there in his grey wooly cardigan, sipping his tea, he was the picture of proper British respectability, at least if you ignored the scars. This gave her an idea.

He apparently felt her gaze, and met it. "So how have you been? Better than I, I hope?"

"Didn't you say something about improving the security around this flat?"

He set his tea down immediately. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I just thought, just as a precaution..."

"Of course. Finish your breakfast, I'll get right on it. So, would you like an anti-apparition ward in the flat? Improved locks on the door and windows? Maybe some alarms so we know if anyone's trying to enter?"

"I'll trust your judgment."

He drew his wand from his sleeve and got to work. "Defense is my specialty," he said. "I'll try not to go overboard. I could make this place so secure, even owls couldn't find us, but I hope there's no need for that."

Beth watched him work for a while, waving his wand in elaborate patterns and speaking strange incantations. Then he sat heavily on the couch, apparently exhausted.

"Do you need more tea?" she asked.

He shook his head weakly. "This calls for something stronger." He staggered to his trunk, unlocked it, and pulled out a perfectly ordinary-looking bar of chocolate. He locked his trunk and staggered back to the couch to eat it. "Want some?"

She broke off a square. "You keep your chocolate locked in your trunk?"

He shrugged. "People steal it. So are you going to tell me what's wrong with your new job?"

"It's fine."

"You wouldn't keep changing the subject if it were fine. I know January's rent is due in two weeks, which doesn't give you much time to find something else, nor me much time to find a job at all. That trunk is full of stuff I want to get rid of anyway. Would you believe that Sirius writing his name in those textbooks made them collectible? I spoke with an antiques dealer who is very interested in buying more memorabilia from the infamous Sirius Black. Fucking rich pureblood supremacist wankers want something to remember their hero by."

He turned a key in the fourth keyhole of the black trunk and searched through drawers. "I think this is just kitchen stuff. Aargh." He pulled out a black coffee mug printed with the words, Once You Go Black, You Never Go Back. "Why did Alastor pack this? I should just smash it." Despite this declaration, he put it back in the trunk, which he locked with the fourth key and unlocked with the fifth key. "Ah, the random crap category." After some sighing and rummaging, he pulled out a photo album. Then he sat on the couch with it on his lap, unopened, for some time.

"You don't have to open that," said Beth.

"I do if I want to take out the pictures of Sirius." He steeled himself and opened the album to a spot near the middle. He turned the pages, his hands perfectly careful and controlled, his face expressionless. After a few pages, he carefully removed one photo. He set it on the brown trunk and put the album away in the black trunk, locking it with the fifth key, then unlocking it with the first. He rummaged through the clothes that now filled the drawers.

Beth looked at the photo. Oddly, it was more like a movie than a photo, playing a scene. In an idyllic green setting touched with the gold of autumn, four young people laughed and roughhoused. A beautiful red-haired woman in a long, flower-print dress smiled as she whispered in the ear of a preppy-looking man with short black hair and glasses. The preppie immediately swung a melodramatic punch at a handsome and flamboyantly-dressed man with long black hair. This handsome man ducked, long black hair flying, so the blow instead hit the round-faced blond man behind him, knocking him to the ground, where he lay with a befuddled expression. The long-haired man laughed as he reached a hand down to him. Then the little scene replayed, over and over. Beth couldn't help but laugh at the slapstick, just like the people in the photo were laughing. She couldn't tell which one was a mass-murderer.

"I found those ridiculous black leather pants," said John, pulling them out of the trunk.

Beth looked back at the photo. The one who ducked so gracefully, then laughed as he gave his friend a hand up.

"And here's that scarlet acromantula silk shirt. The dragonskin jacket and boots must be in a different part of the trunk." He searched until he found them. They looked even more flamboyant in person, textured with large, gleaming black scales.

"Did you say dragonskin?"

"Quite expensive even without a story, but with this photo as proof of who wore them? We'll be set for at least the next month, I'm sure of it. Ooh I know, I'll write up a certificate of authenticity." He rummaged more until he found a sheet of thick ivory paper, a bottle of ink, and a quill pen. He took them and the photo to the kitchen.

"May I touch these clothes?" Beth asked. "I've never touched dragonskin before."

"Go ahead," he called back. "Women were always stroking those clothes, you're just continuing the tradition. The acromantula silk is also quite nice."

She did, and it was. With great self-control, she did not try anything on. Instead she removed herself from temptation and joined John in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, writing with her pen on her pad of paper.

"Can you imagine the sort of bastard who'd get a thrill from wearing a mass-murderer's jacket?" he commented.

"Sick," she agreed.

"Which reads better, 'Sirius Black with three of his victims,' or 'Sirius Black playing with three of his victims?'"

"The first is more subtle, and the second is more disturbing," she said.

"I'll go for disturbing. And then of course their names, left to right. Should I include dates of deaths?"

"Sure. Maybe birthdates too."

"I'll double check those." He got a pocket calendar and copied down some dates. Then he wrote it out carefully with the quill pen on the thick ivory paper. "I wish I had better penmanship," he said, looking it over. It looked fine to her, certainly better results than she'd get from dipping a feather in a bottle of ink. He stuck the photo to the "certificate of authenticity" he'd just made, and put away the quill and ink. Then he loaded everything into the concealed-monogram bag. He put on his coat, but paused before heading out. "I don't think they'd mind," he said uncertainly. "James and Lily and Peter, me selling their photo like this. It's not like I could ever enjoy looking at it again. I think they'd understand." He took a deep breath, then looked her in the eye. "Whatever you've been doing for money, if it makes you feel worse than this, don't do it."

"It's... Thank you. I'll see how tonight goes."

He nodded. "See you later."

—-

She unlocked and opened the door carefully. "The cheese is—" she completely forgot which side of the cooler the cheese was on. "What did you do?"

"I can take it down if you don't like it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it without asking, it is your flat, but, well, Christmas is in just a few days, and when I was rummaging in the trunk I found our decorations. I didn't put up any of the blatantly magical ones. I think they could all pass for normal. I'll defer to your expertise on that of course. I just felt we could both use some Yuletide cheer. There's no mistletoe, don't worry."

"It's... It's beautiful. I wasn't expecting this."

"Want some cawl?"

"What?"

"Soup. Lamb, leeks, swede, potato. Like my mother made."

"Sounds great. Smells great, too." He put a bowl in front of her at the kitchen table. It was perfect for this cold night.

"I was right about that memorabilia selling well," he said. "I can cover both halves of January's rent if need be, and February's. I should have a job by then, though, so hopefully that money can just sit in the bank for emergencies."

"You are an absolutely ideal flatmate, you know that?"

"I try."

"You're trying too hard. All this effort maintaining this level of perfection, you'll snap someday. You can't be this nice all the time."

She saw his hands stiffen with sudden tension. He had no teacup to hold, nor soupbowl to occupy him, presumably having finished dinner earlier. Moving slowly, with absolute control, he adjusted the pad of paper and pens to be perfectly parallel with the edges of the table.

"I was joking," she said, trying to get rid of the chill that had overcome her despite the warmth of the soup.

"Oh." He forced a laugh. "Yes, of course." He folded his hands in front of him. They had rather a lot of scars. He noticed her looking at them and relocated them under the table. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you. What do you want for Christmas? You don't have to get me anything of course," he added. "Sharing your home is already a wonderful gift."

She couldn't contain her nervous laughter. "That's so you. Don't even think about getting me a present until after you find a job."

"If you insist, I won't buy you one until I get a job, but you can't stop me from thinking about it. It's much more enjoyable than thinking about other things."

"I know, I want my Christmas present in advance: more soup." She held out her bowl. "You don't have to wrap it."

This elicited a real laugh from him. "You're not getting off that easy," he said as he refilled her bowl.

Later, she took a brief shower before bed. When she got out, wrapped in her bathrobe, John was doing pushups in the living room.

"Exercising this late?" she asked.

"I can't really relax into sleep," he said. "But I can pass out from exhaustion. I do this every night I'm not too injured. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"No, that's fine," she said, watching him. It looked like it would take a lot to exhaust him.

"Goodnight Beth," he said.

She had been dismissed. "Goodnight John." She went to her room.


	3. Chapter 3

3

She found him in the kitchen in the morning, finishing his breakfast while perusing want ads. She put her hands on his shoulders to prevent him from getting up to serve her breakfast. "I can fill my own plate. Thanks for cooking."

"It's nothing."

"Bacon, eggs, toast and tea are not nothing." She tried to scrape some marmalade out of the jar, but it was nearly empty. "You ate my cat," she complained.

She was not expecting such an explosive reaction to her lame joke. He jumped from his chair. "What? No! I didn't! Is she missing? I'm sure it wasn't me!"

She showed him the empty jar. "Marmalade. My cat's name. Because she's orange."

He was still panting. "Right," he said. "Your cat's fine. You were just talking about something to spread on your toast. A joke. Right. I bought more." He got another jar, opened it, and put it on the table with very careful hands, then sat down again and looked determinedly at the paper, taking slow, deep breaths that shook a little.

"Thanks," she said after a while. "Excuse me a moment." She went her bedroom. There was Marmalade, curled in a patch of sunlight on the bed, just as she'd left her. She petted her soft, warm fur, and got a purr in exchange. Marmalade was clearly offended that Beth got up to go back to the kitchen so quickly.

She put on a smile. "Anything good in the paper?" she asked cheerfully.

"Replacement Santa's helper elf for magical wonderland, start immediately, must pass drug test. You can tell there's a story behind that."

"They probably want someone without scars."

"I didn't mean for me, I know I've got a face that frightens children. I just thought it was funny. We're not doing too well with attempts at jokes, are we? Anyway, here's a place that wants a dishwasher, the customers wouldn't have to look at me. Damn, why do they want three references for a stupid dishwashing job?"

"They might just be saying that."

"I'll try it anyway. Security guard, looking scary could be an advantage there, and they ask for only one reference. You know, someone might think it suspicious that the phone number of my previous supervisor is the same as my home number."

"They won't notice. People are stupid."

"That's true. I'll go for it."

"You'd be a good security guard."

"Thank you."

"I bet you'd be a good bouncer, too."

"Did you see an ad for one? I'd probably be good at that. I certainly have experience with troublemakers."

"They haven't put an ad out yet, but the place I work needs a new one. I mentioned you to the boss, and she thinks you'd be a good fit."

"Really? That's wonderful! Tell me about it. What sort of place is it?"

Beth steeled herself, which would have been easier if she hadn't just had that scare about her cat. "It's a gentlemen's club."

"A what?"

It wasn't an outraged, offended sort of response, it was just a request for a definition of an unknown term. When she risked meeting his gaze, there was just curiosity there. He sipped his tea, again the picture of proper, civilized respectability.

"My mother taught me quite a lot about her world," he added. "Light switches and telephones and so on, but there are big blank areas. She had no interest in sports, for instance, so I can't tell cricket from rugby. Please fill me in. Is this some sort of sports bar?"

She just couldn't do it. "I think I'll just have to show you. The boss is very interested in meeting you. Could you come today?"

"Of course I can. I'm unemployed. What should I wear?"

"Just something casual. Maybe not that cardigan, it makes you look like a professor. Something tougher."

"Sirius dragged me to a disco a few times. That's a kind of nightclub, right? There were certainly some very interesting outfits there. I don't have to wear something like that, do I?"

She laughed. "No. It's not a disco."

"Good. I couldn't believe how revealing some of those outfits were. Fashion in my culture seems to lag a few centuries behind yours, with people dressing in robes that cover everything from neck to wrists to ankles. I was quite unprepared for the sight of such modern fashions."

"Hm."

Of course he packed lunches for them both.

—-

She let him stand outside and read the sign for a while. Dancing Live Nude Girls!

"Well?" she finally asked. "What do you think?"

"I suppose that's better than dancing dead nude girls," he said.

She laughed, although she'd heard it before. "So do you still want the job?"

"So you dance. Nude."

"Yes."

"I imagine the audience can get rather excited."

"Yes."

"So it would be my job to position myself between a mob of aroused men and a naked attractive young woman?"

"Pretty much."

"What could possibly go wrong? Don't answer that."

"The current bouncer really isn't very good," she complained. "I was thinking about who I'd rather have protecting me, and, well, I thought of you. You don't have to of course."

"You know that no man could possibly say no to that," he said in a rather miffed tone. "Of course I'll do it."

"Let me introduce you to the boss," said Beth, leading him in. "Tina?" she called. "I brought John, the guy I was telling you about."

"Hm." Tina, a woman of uncertain age, looked John over.

He stuck out his hand. "Remus John Lupin at your service. Please call me John. I do hope I can help maintain order in your fine establishment.

"He always talk like this?" Tina asked Beth as she shook his hand.

"Yeah," said Beth.

"Hm. But you say he can fight?"

"Yeah. I've seen him."

"He's got a firm handshake at least," said Tina. "With fancy talk like that, I thought he was going to kiss my hand."

Beth laughed. John, with the slightest of smirks, then actually did bow low to kiss Tina's heavily-ringed hand. "Oh most beauteous and revered lady," he said. "I shall endeavor to greet you in a manner that befits your exalted position as the proprietress of this highly-esteemed establishment."

Beth couldn't hear the rest over Tina's raucous laughter.

"Hey, I'm trying to hear the telly," complained the large man sitting alone at the bar, on the barstool closest to the television.

"Hey Ralph," said Tina, "since you didn't notice this man who just wandered into the club you're supposed to be protecting, let me introduce you to your replacement."

"What?" said Ralph, swiveling around.

"I should do proper introductions, shouldn't I? John, this is Ralph, who pays more attention to the telly and the dancers than to the customers he's supposed to be watching. Ralph, this is John, who, says Beth, will actually watch the men like he's supposed to instead of the women, and also is scary in a fight. He even looks scary with those scars and all."

"You think you can replace me with that little wimp?" scoffed Ralph. "A bouncer has to look big and imposing."

"You aren't imposing if you never get off your butt," said Tina. "Beth says John here knows martial arts."

"You're not taking my job," said Ralph, getting off his stool and glowering at John.

"Oh yeah?" said Tina. "Try to throw him out. And you," she turned to John, "try to throw Ralph out. Hey girls!" she shouted. "Anyone wanna see a show? Get out of the dressing room, it's bouncer vs bouncer!" A few dancers peeked out of the dressing room, partly dressed in the clothes they'd soon strip from. John's eyes got wide, then he determinedly looked away from them and back to Tina as she cried, "Ready, set, go!"

"Excuse me?" said John.

"I need to see a demonstration of your ability to throw a guy out of here," said Tina.

"You expect me to fight this man for his job?"

"Yeah. You seem a little slow on the uptake."

"That seems so barbaric."

"Yeah, but it'll be fun to watch. Maybe I should sell tickets. You want the job or not?"

"I..." He looked to Beth, who nodded encouragingly to him. "I suppose. Well. I assume the first tool any good bouncer should use is persuasion. Ralph, it seems that your talents are no longer appreciated here. Don't waste your efforts on the ungrateful. I'm sure you could find a better job elsewhere."

"I get to look at naked girls here," said Ralph. "I'm staying. I can do persuasion too, you know. Like, I could persuade you that you'd better leave before I beat you up." He slowly advanced on John.

"If you regard violence as a deterrent," said John, standing his ground, "Then I am more than your match in that regard. It's only fair to warn you that if you presume to fight me, you may be seriously hurt."

"No wonder you have all those scars," said Ralph. "Anyone who hears you talk must want to kill you." He swung a heavy fist at John.

Beth didn't actually see what happened, as it was over too fast, but the next thing she knew, Ralph was on the floor with John kneeling on his back, and twisting Ralph's arm up at a painful-looking angle.

"Tina, just to clarify," inquired John, "must I literally throw him out, that is, must he become airborne, or will you allow him to maintain some semblance of dignity by walking out under his own power?"

Tina laughed. "This place isn't about dignity. But of course, I know you can't literally throw him. He must weigh twice as much as you."

"Actually," began John.

"I'm going, I'm going," said Ralph. "You win. Let me up."

John did, and reached a hand down to help Ralph up. Ralph refused this offer and staggered up under his own power. "Damn," he said. "I want to go to your gym."

"No you don't," said John. "There are neither naked girls nor tellies there."

Ralph stormed out as Tina laughed again. "I thought you were going to let him leave with his dignity?"

John shrugged. "I'm not convinced he had much to start with. He was much too easy to take down for a man who claims to be a defense professional."

"Beth said you were in the military. What branch? Where were you stationed?"

John blinked at Beth for a moment before turning back to Tina. "That's classified."

Tina slapped him on the back, laughing even more. Then she rested her hand on his back, then slid it to his shoulder, then his arm, squeezing along the way. "My, what big muscles you have," she said appreciatively as John turned pink.

"The better to protect you with, my dear," he said.

Tina looked blank, but one of the dancers in their little audience, Amber, burst out laughing. "He's the Big Bad Wolf! I'll be your Little Red Riding Hood!"

Tina smirked, finally getting it. "Nah, I'll cast you as grandma." Beth thought it a low blow to point out that Amber was getting old for this job.

"As long as he eats me," said Amber. John turned even pinker.

"Now that's an idea," said Tina. "We've only had female performers until now, but that's sexist, isn't it? Maybe we should go coed, start with John here, he could do a sex show up on stage with some of the girls..."

"I'm sure I could find Ralph and bring him back if I hurry," said John. "He actually wants this job, and now that I learn more about it I no longer do. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

He was nearly to the door when Beth grabbed him. "She's joking! She does that. Sorry, I should have warned you."

"You should have warned me about a lot of things."

"Sorry. She really just wants a bouncer, that's it. Don't worry, I already told her about you."

John looked confused, but let Beth pull him back towards Tina, who was suddenly all business. "So, you'll start tonight, obviously. Here are the rules. Customers are not allowed to touch the dancers for anything other than giving them tips. If they try, give them a warning. If they try again, kick them out. Or kick them out the first time if the dancer says they got too fresh. Like, if they stuck a finger in her."

John gulped and nodded.

"The seats right by the stage are in the mandatory tipping zone. Customers have to tip the dancers if they want to sit there. If they let a few dancers go by without tipping them, you move them elsewhere, further from the stage or to the bar. Except, of course, if they're busy getting a lapdance."

"A what?"

Tina looked at Beth. "I told you," said Beth.

Tina sighed at turned back to John. "After the dancers do their stage show, they work the floor and earn more money. They offer lapdances to the customers. They dance while sitting on their customers' laps. It's not prostitution because they're both wearing clothes. The customers have to keep their hands to themselves. They may not touch the dancers. If they try, give them a warning, and kick them out if they try again."

"Right," said John, nodding.

"Then there are the private rooms for the nude lapdances," Tina continued. "You're responsible for those too."

"Private rooms?" he asked helplessly.

"More like booths. The monitors for the security cameras are back here by the sound system," she said. "Just check them occasionally to make sure things are OK in there. Sorry the video quality's not great. The girls should scream if there's a problem. Now for the private dances, the girls are nude, but the customers have to stay clothed. No sex, meaning no genital/oral/anal contact in any combination. No insertions, no exchanging bodily fluids. I run a clean place here. We're not going to get busted for prostitution. Keep an eye on Amber, she must be doing something special to get those tips at her age. So, I think that's it. Any questions?"

John looked blank for a while, then asked, "What does this job pay? And how often?"

Tina patted him on the shoulder. "That's up to the girls. They tip you at the end of each night. So you'd better treat them right."

"I see. What are the hours?"

"Five to eleven, Monday through Thursday, five to midnight Friday and Saturday. Sometimes different hours for special events. Closed on Christmas. New Year's is coming up, so we're staying open 'till two in the morning."

"What sort of policy do you have about taking time off for health reasons?"

"Take your vitamins and don't get ill."

"Er. But if—"

"Call in and I'll try to find a replacement. Maybe Ralph could fill in. The girls come and go as they please since there are so many of them, but there's only one of you. Try to stay healthy."

"I'll try."

"Anything else?"

"Check it out, everyone!" called Onyx from the stage. "I've been working on a new move, where my top falls off as I'm hanging upside down from the pole. How does it look? Honest feedback now." Everyone looked. Onyx demonstrated. Her new move was athletic, graceful, and perfectly executed as usual. It was followed by general applause and enthusiastic hooting from Tina and the assembled dancers, although Beth suspected that she wasn't the only one jealous of Onyx's skill.

Tina turned back to John, who wrenched his gaze away from Onyx's upside-down breasts with a nearly audible rip. "You all set?" she asked. "Doors open in a few minutes."

"Where's your men's room?" he asked. Tina pointed and he hurried off.

Tina raised a skeptical eyebrow at Beth. "You sure about him? Never mind, no time, go get ready."

Beth was very glad that her recommendation had worked out so well. John seemed tense, as might be expected of anyone in a new job, but he did not waste his time gawking at the dancers as Ralph had done. In fact, he avoided looking at them as much as possible, instead watching the men like a hawk, as was his job. He explained the rules graciously to any customers who needed clarification, and kept them in line.

Yes, hiring a closeted gay man for this job had been a brilliant idea.

—-

She transferred her aching feet from her tortuous heels to her trainers and found John. He was receiving his tips from the dancers, which was taking longer than usual since he was asking for feedback from each.

"I know they're not allowed to touch you, but I assumed they'd want to touch your, um, private parts, so I didn't know what to do about the customer who only seemed interested in touching your feet. I didn't think you minded, but it was hard to tell on that little monitor."

"It's fine," Candi explained. "He's a regular, he's harmless. Thanks for looking out for me." She tipped him fifteen pounds.

He accepted the money graciously. "Thank you. It was my pleasure. I mean..." He turned pink.

"The no touching rule is a little relaxed in the private rooms," clarified Tina. "But the no prostitution rule still applies. No insertions, no oral/genital/anal contact."

"I'm still a bit confused," he admitted, "when it seems that people attempt to get around that restriction in such a wide variety of ways."

"You'll figure it out," assured Tina, patting him on the shoulder, then letting her hand linger. She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "And here's a tip from me." She startled him by stuffing a bill down his shirt.

If Beth were a bouncer, she would have looked at the expression on John's face and thrown Tina out.

"Um," he said. Then very quietly, "Please don't do that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll take it back," said Tina. She reached into his shirt and felt around. "Where is it? Maybe it fell down lower." She knelt before him and untucked his shirt from his jeans. "Is it down here?" John seemed helpless, frozen.

"We have to go now or we'll miss our bus," said Beth. She threw her twenty pounds at Tina for the use of her space, then grabbed John's hand and pulled him away. This seemed to break the spell.

John pulled the bill out of his shirt and tucked his shirt back in. They walked to the bus stop together.

"You can stand up to her you know," said Beth. "I think she likes to see what she can get away with."

"It's confusing, like I have two bosses now, you and her," he said. "Thanks for snapping me out of that. She's my boss in name only, I don't really have to do everything she wants. I follow you, not her."

"What? You don't have to follow anyone."

"I've got to follow someone. Either that or lead, and I'm in no shape to lead."

They reached the bus stop. "At this time of night, the buses don't run very often, so we might have a long wait. Keep me awake. Talk to me."

"I could apparate us back to your flat if you like. Or I could wait with you of course, I wouldn't just leave you alone at a bus stop."

"What do you mean, apparate?"

"Like, what do the sci-fi shows call it, teleport? Disappear from here and reappear in a different place almost instantaneously."

"You can take someone with you?"

"Oh yes, I can transport myself and one or two other people easily enough. I got my license when I was seventeen. I warn you, it's rather uncomfortable. You'll get quite motion-sick. It's more tolerable with practice."

"The bus isn't particularly comfortable either."

"It's more comfortable than apparition, I assure you."

"Hm."

"But at least apparition's over with fast."

"OK, I'll try it. What do I do?"

"Hold on to my arm." She did, putting her hand around it gingerly. The thick fabric of his coat, around the thick muscles of his arm, made this a difficult task for her small hand.

"Hm," he said, dissatisfied. "It's vitally important that we don't get separated in transit. Here." He put his arm around her waist in a sort of side hug. She did the same, giving up on trying to gain purchase with her hand on his arm, and instead putting her arm around his back. Suddenly she felt very uncomfortable, as if she were being squeezed through a garden hose which was being twirled through the air. After rather longer than she expected for something described as almost instantaneous, it was over, and John's arm around her waist was the only thing preventing her from collapsing. He expertly angled her away so when she threw up, it wasn't on him, or even much on her.

"Bloody hell," she said eventually. "Where are we?"

"The alley by your block of flats."

"Oh yeah, you mentioned making our flat teleport-proof."

"I did, but I keyed our signatures into the ward so we're the only ones who can get in. I thought it best to get this part over with outside, though. Can you stand on your own yet?"

"Yes. No. Give me a minute."

"I just want to get my wand." Still supporting her, he pulled his wand from his sleeve and said " _Scourgify_ ," at the vomit on the ground, then her shoes. "I think that's all of it."

"You could have done that in our flat."

"Not much I can do about the air, though. Let's go up." He opened the doors without any fussing with keys, just by saying " _Alohamora_ " and waving his wand.

Beth felt her dizziness and nausea slowly recede, although she was tired enough to continue taking advantage of John's support. Marmalade greeted them by fleeing to the bedroom with a terrified yowl. John watched her go.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked. "If you're still unwell, I have some potions that might help."

"I'm feeling much better, thank you."

"Oh good." He unwrapped his arm from her waist and stepped away from her so fast, she wondered if she still had puke on her. "I'm sorry about having to hold you like that, but it seemed the only safe way to side-along apparate you. I know you don't want another man touching you. Not without tipping you, at least."

"It's fine, John. We're both in winter coats for fucks sake."

"I didn't mean anything by it," he persisted. "I wasn't trying to steal a hug or anything. I know we're just flatmates."

"I know. If you were trying to cop a feel, waiting until I'm wearing my coat would be a particularly inefficient way to go about it."

"Right."

"Unless you have some groping-through-thick-fabric superpower, which knowing you wouldn't surprise me."

He laughed as they hung up their coats. "No, nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure... Oh, it smells like dinner's ready. Let's eat."

"You magically set up dinner to cook itself while we were out?"

"Sort of. I used your crockpot."

She laughed. They went to the kitchen, where he served them beef stew. "This is just the thing to help me feel better," she said. "Let me guess. Welsh? Your mother's recipe?"

He laughed again. "I don't think this even qualifies as a recipe, it's so simple. I warned you I wasn't a good cook. I can do only simple things."

"It's perfect. You can keep cooking this badly for me forever as far as I'm concerned."

He looked away from her smile as if it burned him. "Beth," he said. "I want to make one thing very clear. I'm... I try to be a nice person. I try to be polite and helpful."

"And you succeed. It's kind of freaky, actually, how helpful you are. Not that I'm complaining."

"This helpfulness is not to be misinterpreted as some sort of romantic intent."

"What?"

"I'm just making sure you understand me. I'm afraid my politeness has led to confusion in the past. Girls, women, have accused me of leading them on. I want to make it very clear that I'm not. There will never be any sort of romance between us."

"Well, good. Thank you. I appreciate your honesty." She laughed. "Although I can't help but notice that the first night you see me naked, boom, you're totally turned off."

"What? No! You're beautiful, of course you're beautiful. I just wanted to make sure that, if you saw me looking at you tonight, I mean, if you misinterpreted the way I was looking at you—"

She kept laughing. "There's no need to let me down easy, John. I will never be your girlfriend, and I'm fine with that. Eat your stew." She smirked. "So would you like me to find a different girl for you? Any of the dancers tonight strike your fancy? Some of them are single." She laughed even harder at his horrified reaction. "Don't worry, I wouldn't do that to you. Besides, I already told them you're... Never mind. You're adorable. You think you're being all secretive, but you're totally transparent." She ate her stew. He, after a confused pause, ate his.

As John cleaned up the kitchen, Beth took a short shower, as she couldn't stand to go to bed with the scent of various men's colognes on her. When she came out, John was doing pushups in the living room.

"Sleep well, John."

"Sleep well, Beth."


	4. Chapter 4

4

"Would you like a lapdance?"

The blond young man looked at Beth with wide blue eyes. "Sure!"

"It costs ten pounds, just so you know."

He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and showed it to her. "Is this enough?"

Damn. There had to be over a hundred pounds in there. How could he not know how much money was in his own wallet? Whatever. She smiled, and climbed onto the drunk young man's lap. She shook her breasts, clad only in a skimpy turquoise halter top, in his face. He reached for her breast, but she pushed his hand away. "Sorry," she said, smiling. "You're not allowed to touch me."

"Aw, come on," he whined.

She gave a regretful sigh she hoped sounded convincing. "It's against the rules. This place will get shut down for prostitution if we go too far. We can still have lots of fun though," she said, smiling.

"I want to see your tits," he said.

"I can give you a nude lapdance in a private room," she said. "For twenty pounds." Well, as private as it could be with security cameras. John hopefully had time to glance at the monitors periodically, while also patrolling the stage area and bar.

She looked for him. He was busy explaining the mandatory tipping area to someone who seemed to find the concept fundamentally unjust, and was arguing over the definition of the word "tipping." John might be busy for a while. "I'm sorry sir," she overheard him say. "But that's a rule of the house. Yes, it's true that not all gentlemen's clubs have this rule, but we find that it enables us to attract and retain the most beautiful and talented dancers, as you can see. Feel free to go to a club with a different policy if you like. Shall I show you to the door?" The poor sod probably had no idea his arm was about to be painfully twisted behind his back if he didn't comply.

"You have private rooms?" Beth's customer was saying. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Lead the way."

She did. She could tell he was eyeing her hotpants as she walked, so she added an extra sway to her hips. "Have a seat," she said, once she'd pulled the curtain closed. Then she took off her clothes, skimpy as they were, and straddled his lap, facing him. She shook her now-naked tits in his face. He liked that.

"Tell me all the things we're not allowed to do," he said, smiling.

"Well," she said. "We're not allowed to have actual sex. That would be prostitution, which is illegal."

"Tell me in more detail," he said.

"Well," she said. "You're not allowed to do this." She stroked her breasts with her hands, then grabbed them roughly. He seemed to prefer the roughness, judging by his expression. "You're not allowed to kiss these perky nipples." Of course they were perky, it was chilly in here. "You're not allowed to grab my hips and move me, although I am allowed to do this." She ground her pelvis down on his, feeling his erection straining through his trousers. He groaned. "I'm not allowed to let that hard cock out and grab hold of it and stroke it, or lick that delicious drop of pre-cum off the tip, or gently take it in my lips, then suck it in deeper, deeper, feeling that hard shaft sliding down my throat."

She put her mouth close to his ear, whispering, which gave her at least a little distance from his alcohol-scented breath. His cologne would have been nice if there had been less of it. She ground her hips into his as she spoke. "You're not allowed to cum deep in my throat, and I'm not allowed to swallow jet after jet of that delicious, thick, creamy cum."

He groaned again. "Hot damn, girl. Tell me more."

She was pretty sure she was older than he was, but he could call her girl instead of woman if he wanted. "You're not allowed to slide your fingers into my tight, wet pussy. You're not allowed to lick my pussy, suck on my clit, drink my juices—"

"Ew," he interrupted. "Do blokes actually do that?"

"Um. Yes." And women too.

"Why? That sounds gross."

"Never mind. I won't mention it again."

"Good."

"Anyway. You're not allowed to slam me against the wall and fuck me hard, with my legs wrapped around you as you thrust your cock into my tight pussy over and over, until you finally cum inside me."

"Oh yes, girl. Keep talking." He bucked his hips up against hers.

Should she even say this, or would this innocent boy be grossed out? "You're not allowed to flip me over and fuck my tight arse," she said. She turned around and smiled at his surprised face over her shoulder. She ground her arse against his trouser-trapped cock.

"You can do that to girls?" he asked. "I bought that was just for doing to boys. When you want to humiliate them, you know, show them they're inferior, fucking them like they're girls."

It was hard to keep smiling. "Girls have arses too," she managed. She looked straight ahead as she ground her arse against him. She tossed her hair and moaned as if she was into it. Twenty pounds for a three-minute song, and it was almost over, unless he wanted another twenty-pound lapdance after this one.

"You do have a great arse," he said. "Like a boy my father gave me once. But turn back around, I want to see your tits again."

Like... What? She put her smile back on before she turned around.

"What else aren't we allowed to do?"

"I'm afraid the lapdance is over," she said, trying to sound regretful. "They last for one three-minute song. Unless you'd like another one?"

"Can you think of anything else forbidden?"

She thought. She could probably come up with more, but this guy was giving her the creeps. "I'm getting kind of tired of talking," she apologized.

"That's fine," he said agreeably. "I think that to-do list should be enough to keep us busy." He drew a wand from his sleeve in a gesture familiar to her. Was this young man about to make tea? Wash dishes? Instead, he pointed it at her. " _Imperio_."

Beth was suddenly very happy not to think of anything at all. This nice young man would do all her thinking for her.

It was just great, and pleasantly surprising, that the way he was touching her didn't hurt at all. Then she watched in delight as her hands fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers...

It was even better when the curtain was abruptly pushed aside and another man charged into the room. " _Expelliarmus_ ," said John. He caught the young man's wand out of the air as it flew from his hand.

Beth suddenly didn't feel happy at all. She scrambled off the newly wandless wizard and rushed to put her clothes back on, wishing they covered more.

"Lupin?" he complained, shocked. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Stopping assholes like you from abusing the dancers. Put your pants back on. No one wants to see that. I don't want to even see your face. I guess it was too much for me to hope for, that I'd never see you again after I graduated. Didn't I catch you vandalizing library books a few years ago? And now here you are again, tormenting a muggle with, what was that, a confundus charm?"

"What if it was? You're not a prefect anymore. What do you think you're going to do, take house points? Give me detention?"

"You're in considerably more trouble than that. Muggle-baiting is illegal."

"Aw come on, I was going to obliviate her afterwards, it's not like anyone would know—"

"You were planning to obliviate someone while you're drunk? Damn, I should snap your wand. That's delicate work, and you're not even sober enough to apparate."

"I'm not really drunk. I'll show you. Just give me my wand back and I'll apparate home."

"I wouldn't really mind you splinching yourself, but I don't want to have to clean up any body parts you leave behind." He seemed to take pity on him. "I'll give you your wand back after I side-along apparate you home, and you promise to never try this again."

"You don't know where I live well enough to apparate there. We wouldn't allow your kind around."

"My kind?" he asked mildly. "You mean decent law-abiding people?"

"You're a halfblood, aren't you? You sure put on airs at school, teacher's pet, prefect, but you're still just a halfblood. That's why you're working here in the mud, couldn't get a job in the real world, could you? It's bad enough your family doesn't have any money so you need a job in the first place, but working for muggles? Pathetic."

"I was thinking of just apparating you to your general neighborhood and letting you walk the rest of the way home, but you're right, I'm sure I've never been anywhere near the Rowle estate, and of course it wouldn't do to make someone of your status walk. New plan. I'll take you straight to an all-night apothecary so you can buy yourself a sober-up potion, and you can apparate yourself home from there. I'll take you to one in Diagon Alley, all right? Oh, and remember to pay your dancer before you go. Go on."

The young man took out his wallet and looked inside. "Do you understand muggle money? All this paper."

"The numbers are printed right on it. Can't you read?"

"But there's all this other stuff printed on it too, it's confusing."

"She probably wouldn't object if you gave her all of that."

"But this is half my week's allowance! Minus what I spent on drinks."

"Is losing this money a hardship for you? I'm sorry, I didn't realize your family was poor. I could start a collection for you, maybe gather some dented canned goods and secondhand clothes to get you through the winter. 'Tis the season of giving, after all."

"You'd know all about charity, wouldn't you? Son of a muggle." The young man grudgingly took out his money, then threw it on the floor at his own feet. "I want to see you grovel for it, muggle," he said to Beth.

John put one arm around the young man's back, and grasped him firmly by the arm with his other hand. "You can pick that up later," he said to Beth. Then he and the young man vanished with a loud crack, timed to coincide with a loud drumbeat of the music.

Beth knelt to pick up the money. Half his week's allowance? Damn. She stashed it in her locker in the dressing room, then went out to work the floor again. She took a deep breath and put on a smile. "Would you like a lap dance?"

Well, this was better than some Christmas Eves she'd had. At least she wasn't with her family.

—-

"Beth?" Tina looked annoyed.

"Yes?"

"Where's John?"

"He got rid of a problem customer for me," said Beth. "He was amazing."

"But where is he? We're busy tonight."

"He took him outside. He should be back soon."

Thank goodness John hurried in at that moment.

"Where were you?" asked Tina suspiciously.

"I removed a problem customer," he explained. "And then had to explain to him in some detail why his behavior was unacceptable."

"You could have explained in here."

"I didn't want to disturb the other customers."

Tina shrugged. "They could stand to hear a repeat of the rules too."

"Nor did I want to get blood on your floor. Anyway, I'm sorry I took so long, but afterwards I walked him to the bus stop and gave him bus fare to get home."

"What, he didn't even have bus fare? Bastard."

"There's no money left in his wallet," said Beth. "John convinced him that he owed me a generous tip. Everything he had, a hundred and eighty pounds!"

Tina nodded approvingly and walked away to announce the next stage performer.

"What really happened?" Beth asked.

"Let's discuss this in private." They went to a private room, after he'd looked over the whole area, including the monitors. "I apparated him straight to our law enforcement office and explained the situation. I gave them a copy of my memory of the incident, so they should have all the information they need. I told them you don't need obliviation. They didn't argue about that, the Obliviators have been quite overworked recently."

"What will happen to him?"

"Nothing, really. He's a rich pureblood. His family will apply some pressure and he'll be home tonight. If this case actually goes to trial, they'll pay me not to testify."

"You wouldn't take their money!"

He shrugged. "If I refuse, they'll put that money towards an assassin. Your flat or this club might get damaged. It would be better for everyone if I just take the money. Anyway, justice will be served, in a way. His parents will be angry he got caught. They might punish him, reduce his allowance or something. If they're anything like Sirius's parents..." He gulped. "I don't know. Those old families have some very creative punishments. He won't be back here, if only because there are plenty of other strip clubs he could haunt."

"What would you have done if this had happened to one of the other dancers?"

"It has. This club is close to our main shopping district. A lot of wizards wander in. Most are harmless of course. The others... I put the dancer to sleep first so she doesn't see the confrontation. I figure that's better than letting her see it and obliviating her afterwards. When I wake her, I tell her I saw the customer slip her a date rape drug."

"Thank you doesn't seem adequate."

"I'm just doing my job," he said. "Are you all right, Beth? Really? I couldn't see everything on the security camera, but I could tell you weren't acting like yourself. A confundus charm can take a while to wear off."

"No, I'm fine. It, it stopped as soon as you took his wand.

"Really? I want to check." She flinched when he drew his wand and pointed it at her. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just doing a scan. Hm. I'm not detecting any residual magic. _Finite Incantatem_. Notice anything different?"

She shook her head.

"I'm sure you could use a shoulder to cry on," he said. "It can help to talk over a bad experience with a friend so it doesn't eat away at you, playing itself over and over in your mind. I bet some of the other dancers would be willing to listen. I'd better get back to work." He abruptly left, leaving her alone in the tiny room.


	5. Chapter 5

5

A loud buzzing alarm woke her. She stumbled out of her bedroom to find John on high alert, intimidating even in his grey pajamas, looking around in all directions, his wand drawn like a weapon.

"It's the intercom," she said. "Someone buzzed our flat from the front door. I'm not expecting anyone, maybe someone just pressed the wrong button." She pressed the button on the wall and said "Who is it?"

"Well happy Christmas to you too, Beth. No card, no call, how was I to know if you're still alive? Of course I had to come here just to see if your body has been rotting on the floor for weeks."

Beth released the button. "Fuck."

"Who is it?" asked John

"My mother." She looked at him with steely determination. "Get dressed, turn your bed back into a couch, and play along, all right?"

"Play along with what?"

"No time to explain." She pushed the intercom button again. "I'll buzz you up in a few minutes. We have to get dressed."

"You're not dressed yet? It's nearly noon."

"We work evenings."

"We? Who's we?"

Beth released the intercom button.

In a few minutes, they and their flat were presentable. "Maybe I should have left the sheets on the couch," fretted John. "You mentioned us getting dressed, so she knows I spent the night, and she might think—"

"It's fine." Beth pressed the intercom button again. It caught her mother mid-rant.

"—stuck out on the street in this neighborhood, it's a wonder I haven't been mugged yet—"

"Mum, I'm going to buzz you in."

"About time."

Soon, she was at the door to the flat, thrusting a present into her hands. "Here," she said.

"Thank you." Beth took the present and set it under the tree with the other two. "And happy Christmas."

Her mum walked in and looked around. She was blessedly speechless. Then her gaze settled on John. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"This is John Lupin. John, this is my mum, Mary Smyth."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Smyth," he said, holding out his hand to shake.

She looked him over. "What's wrong with your face?" she said.

"Excuse me?" he said with his usual composure.

"What's with the scars? That the fashion now among you young people? Worse than tattoos."

"I was attacked by a dog."

"What kind of idiot gets himself attacked by a dog? Was it a guard dog? Were you trying to commit a burglary?"

"I was four years old."

"Hm. Your parents must not be any good then, letting you get attacked by a dog. Some people just shouldn't have kids. Not responsible enough. I never let my Beth get attacked by any dogs. That's just common sense."

"Would you like some tea?" he asked, giving up on shaking her hand.

"Well I certainly need something to warm me up, after being forced to stand out in the cold for so long."

John escaped to the kitchen.

Her mother looked around for something to complain about. "These decorations must have cost a lot of money."

"I wouldn't know. John brought them all. He can afford it."

"Hm. Still seems a waste for things you use only once a year."

Soon, John brought in the tea, and a chair from the kitchen so the living room could seat three.

"I also made a bara brith," he said. "To go with the tea. I thought I'd do something festive for Christmas."

"What's that?" asked her mum suspiciously. "That sounds foreign."

"It's Welsh. It translates to speckled bread, although it's not really a bread."

Beth froze in fear that he was about to mention seaweed.

"It's more like a cake," he continued. "With dried fruits and spices. I used my mother's recipe. Can I interest you in a taste?"

He could. It was as good as everything else he made. Even her mother couldn't find fault with it.

"We were just about to have breakfast," he said. "Although for you I suppose it's lunchtime. Will you join us?"

"John makes a wonderful traditional English breakfast," said Beth. She gave him a warning look when he met her gaze. He shrugged, conceding the point.

"All right," said her mother.

"Brunch for three," he said, happily disappearing into the kitchen again, leaving Beth alone with her mother. That bastard would probably cook a twelve-course meal worthy of Sirius's family chef to avoid present company. Beth certainly would, if she'd thought of it first.

Cheerful sizzling sounds soon came from the kitchen. Also the sounds of chairs being arranged, although she had only two chairs, and one was in the living room at the moment. And was that the sound of the table being moved? And that tapping noise, was that what she thought it was? It went with the fluttering, which suddenly got louder when the window shrieked open and the tapping stopped.

"I said, you didn't tell me you had a boyfriend."

"That's right, I didn't."

"And you're even living with him!"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's none of your business."

"Of course it's my business. I'm your mother."

"And I didn't think you'd approve. I know you don't like foreigners."

"Isn't he British?"

"Yes, but he's not English. He's Welsh."

"Stupid girl, that's close enough. At least he's not a paki. At this point I'm just glad you finally got yourself a man. I told you there's no hope once you're thirty. I'm glad you finally came to your senses and took my advice, although you did have to wait until the last minute, didn't you. Twenty-nine!" she complained, outraged. She helped herself to another slice of spotty bread or whatever it was called. "He can bake."

"Yes. He's a great cook."

"Real men don't cook."

Beth closed her eyes and tried to bang her head against the wall behind the couch, but a garland of evergreen boughs and red velvet ribbons softened the blow. It smelled nice. She breathed the scent in deeply.

"In my day, people knew their place. Women were women and men were men, and we didn't have any of these gays and lesbians like we have today. It's not natural."

Another deep breath of evergreen.

"Although I suppose it makes sense," her mother continued around a mouthful of cake, "That someone like you would find a girly man like him. He seems close enough to a man, even if he is feminine enough for you with this cooking hobby. I'll allow it. I told you that thing with that girl wouldn't last."

"We were together for five years, mum."

"Just a phase, I told you, and I was right. She came to her senses and got herself a man, did she? Or you left her for John?"

"She died."

"Stupid girl to get herself killed. How'd she do it?"

"Freak accident. They said it was a gas explosion. As she was walking down the street."

"Seems appropriate for a freak. I wouldn't be caught dead in a freak accident."

Thank goodness the kitchen door opened and John called, "Brunch is ready! Bring your teacups."

Beth hardly recognized the kitchen. Aside from the decorations, the table was bigger, and there were three chairs around it. Quite a feast was laid out on the tablecloth, who was red with gold threads. "Wow, thanks, John," said Beth. "This looks amazing. All of it."

John drew close to her in a familiar way, as if he did that sort of thing all the time, and whispered, "I wish I could fix the important things," in her ear. Then he pulled out a chair for her mum, then her, and served the food. Beth noticed that although there was laverbread on the table, John spared her mother from it.

Her mum eyed Beth's plate. "You're not going to eat all that, are you dear? You need to watch your weight. You've got stouter since I saw you last."

Beth pointedly stuffed some bacon into her mouth.

"I'm giving you good advice dear. You think John here will stick around once you let yourself go? You're living in a fantasy world if you believe that."

"Would you like some laverbread, Mrs. Smyth?" interrupted John.

Her mum was thrown off her stride. "What?"

"Laverbread. It's not really bread, it's made of seaweed. For this festive occasion, I prepared it properly, just like my mum used to, boiled, chopped, mixed with oats and cockles, and fried. It's essential for a proper Welsh breakfast."

"Did you say seaweed?"

"Yes. It just doesn't seem like breakfast without seaweed."

"That's what the black stuff is?"

"Yes," he said, smiling innocently.

"I thought that was something normal like black pudding."

"No. It's something normal like laverbread," he said, still smiling innocently.

"Are you choking, dear?" she said to Beth. "No wonder, the way you wolf down your food, not all dainty like John here."

Beth's attempt to stifle her laughter wasn't very effective. John patted her on the back to help with her "choking."

Tap tap tap! At the window. John was facing it, no doubt by design. Her mother had her back to it. Beth could see, by subtly looking to the side, an owl banging on the glass.

John abruptly stood up, distracting her mother before she could turn around to face the window. "The teapot's still in the living room, so excuse me for a moment." He hurried out of the kitchen, so distracted he was still holding his fork, with a sausage impaled on it. The owl could soon be heard tapping at the living room window, and then there was the squeak of the window opening, and a feathery fluttering. After a moment, another feathery fluttering, the squeak of the window closing, and then he was back with the tea tray. His fork was empty.

"Tea's just the thing when you're choking," he said, topping up Beth's cup. "Would you like some more, Mrs. Smyth?"

"I'm not choking."

"Quite right. I'm very glad to finally meet you, Mrs. Smyth. Now I see where Beth gets her kindness, intelligence, and beauty. Thank you for bringing such a treasure into the world."

"Well, don't you talk fancy. What do you do with those fancy words of yours?"

"Do?"

"What's your job? Do you have a job?"

John looked to Beth for guidance, but she just shrugged. "I'm a bouncer."

Her mum laughed. "And what use are fancy words in a job like that?"

"They're quite useful, actually. My job is to keep the peace. Reminding people that we live in a civilized society can have quite the calming effect. Or perhaps I just bore people into submission."

"I work at the same place," volunteered Beth. "I'm a cocktail waitress."

"Seems disreputable. Get a lot of riffraff there?"

"Oh, John does a great job of throwing out the riffraff."

"Hm." She couldn't find anything to criticize about throwing out riffraff. "What do your parents do?"

"My father is an exterminator. My mother was a homemaker."

"That doesn't explain why you talk like that."

"Well." He looked to Beth, but she wasn't about to offer her mum seaweed. She removed herself from the conversation by taking a large bite of sausage. "I suppose I talk like my friends. I went to a boarding school. My three best friends were from rather a different social stratum than I."

"And these contacts can't give you a better job than being a bouncer?"

Tap tap tap.

John sprang from his seat again. "Excuse me, it just occurred to me that I may have left the fairy lights on in the living room, and I don't want to waste electricity." He impaled a sausage on his fork on his way out.

He was gone for rather longer than one might expect it would take to turn off some lights, and even longer than one would expect it would take to get a letter off an owl. Beth couldn't blame him for stalling.

"He seems rather odd," said her mum.

"That's because he's Welsh. Welshmen eat seaweed for breakfast!"

"Ah, that explains it."

He was eventually back, with the fork and without the sausage. "Are you done with your brunch? I for one am eager to open those presents! Let's go!" They went to the living room. He turned the fairy lights back on.

"Now Beth," he said, handing her her present. "I know these aren't what you usually wear, but I just thought you'd look good in them, you know, just for around the flat."

Beth opened the beautifully-wrapped box.

"Those look like stripper shoes," said her mum.

Indeed they did. They gleamed iridescent silver, and had stiletto heels that seemed a mile high.

"Thank you, John," said Beth. She supposed it was nice of him to buy what he probably thought was a practical gift she could wear to work, but he, a man, clearly had no idea how impossible it was to walk in things like these all night. The three-inch heels she typically wore were already quite bad enough to wear for hours at a time.

"You don't have to try them on now," he said.

"Yes she does," said her mum, smirking. "Beth, if your man bought you stripper shoes to wear around the flat, you'd better wear them. He doesn't want to see you in worn-out slippers. I told you you can't let yourself go, or your man will let you go too. Get your fat feet in there."

John rubbed his temples.

Beth put on the shoes. Then she stared at her shoes. Then she closed her eyes and wiggled her toes. Trainers. It felt exactly like she was wearing trainers. She opened her eyes, stood up, and walked to John. It was a bit unnerving being higher than usual, but it didn't feel Iike she was wearing heels at all.

"Do you like them?" he asked nervously.

"It doesn't matter if she likes them, you obviously got them for yourself," said her mum. "Do you like them?"

"I don't think they'd fit me," he said.

"That's not what I—"

"I love them," said Beth. "Thank you. I'll wear them all the time."

"You look great in them," he said. "Although of course, you also look great without them."

Beth gave him a sincere hug. "I'm sorry, my gift to you isn't nearly as nice."

"I'll be the judge of that," he said, hugging back.

She handed his present to him. It seemed awful now, like something someone with no imagination would bring to a mandatory office party holiday gift swap.

He opened it. Had she looked that delighted when she'd opened her gift? When she'd tried it on, maybe. He either loved it, or was a damn good actor.

"Chocolate," he said reverently. "You replaced my stolen chocolate stash." He picked her up and spun her around. "I love you a million times more than I did before."

"Stolen?" asked her mum.

"I had a pretty bad flatmate before I moved in with Beth," he explained. He carefully selected a bar, unwrapped it, and gave some to both of them before eating some himself. "Chocolate, and a beautiful girlfriend in high heels," he marveled. "This is the Christmas of my dreams."

"Beth, you haven't opened my present yet."

All good things must come to an end. Beth steeled herself. "It feels like a book."

"I like books," volunteered John.

Beth unwrapped it and read the title: "How to Catch and Keep a Man."

John burst out laughing. "Mrs. Smyth, Beth could have written such a book. She doesn't require any assistance."

"Well, it couldn't hurt," said her mum.

Yes it could.

"I'm afraid I didn't get a present for you," said John. "Could I offer you the other bara brith I made, and we'll call it a present? I could wrap it for convenient transport."

Beth could see her mother trying to find fault with this offer and failing. "All right," she finally said.

John vanished into the kitchen again, which was good timing, judging by the tapping and fluttering noises that soon came from the kitchen.

"He is rather odd," said her mother. "But I suppose he's the best we can hope for." She drew close to her. "Don't fuck this up."

John was soon back with the bara brith, wrapped like a present in bright paper and ribbons. "I hope this is easy to carry. Thank you so much for coming. It's been a delight to meet you. Let me help you with your coat."

There are advantages to living with a bouncer, thought Beth, as she watched John graciously but effectively bustle her mother out the door.

Once he'd closed the door on her, they both listened for her heavy feet going down the stairs, and the front door opening and closing, before they spoke.

"I owe you," said Beth.

At first, he seemed poised to assure her that on the contrary, he was indebted to her for her great kindness and blah blah blah. "Yes," he said after thinking for a while. "Yes you do. I know, here's a favor you can do for me. Once she has time to write you back into her will, could you invite her over for dinner so I can poison her? No, I know, I'll arrange a freak accident. That'll be fun. I'd go the classic route and beat her to a bloody pulp with my delicate, ladylike fists, but I don't want to risk breaking a nail."

Beth laughed until she cried, flopping helplessly on the couch. John flopped next to her. "I'd say I can hardly believe you're related, but I've known of other mismatched families. I'm reminded of my friend Lily and her awful sister Petunia. Such a pity that Petunia is the one who survived."

It seemed wrong to keep laughing. "You were joking about killing my mother, right?"

"Of course. It would be serious overkill to respond to a verbal attack with a physical one. I've only ever killed in response to an immediate physical threat."

That was sufficient to completely stop Beth's laughter.

"You have my word," said John, noticing the change in mood. "If I killed people for bigoted views, my father would be dead now. Instead we exchange Christmas cards. Look." He gathered cards from the kitchen and his trunk. "These arrived at an inopportune time, but I sent mine out pretty late, so I suppose that was to be expected. I think people forgot I was still alive until my cards showed up." He shuffled through the stack to find the one from his father. It was addressed to Remus Lupin, as all the cards were.

"Remus?" Beth asked.

"If I didn't kill him for naming me that, you know I won't kill him ever," he said.

"Does it mean something?"

"Yes. It means, 'I will never fit into the muggle world, because my father gave me this weird name.' Good thing my mother insisted on John as at least a middle name." He opened the card. "Dear Remus, Thanks for letting me know you're still alive. The newspaper has had some disturbing stories recently. I hate to think of you mixed up in that. Maybe I made a mistake letting you go to school and get involved with that lot. Sorry. Love, Dad."

John closed the card. "Nothing in there about me being soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death. He's mellowing in his old age."

"That's why you'd rather sleep in the park than go home to your father."

"Yes. He's not as outspoken as your mother, but... I'm not the son he expected or wanted. I just remind him of his disappointment every time he sees me. It doesn't make for the cheeriest Christmas."

Beth reached out her arms to hug him. He was stiff and awkward at first, but seemed to slowly melt into her arms.

"I'm not the one who needs comforting here," he said. "I didn't know about your girlfriend. You have my sincerest condolences for your loss." Soon Beth needed to get some tissues and John pulled his cloth handkerchief out of his pocket.

"Sorry this isn't the cheeriest Christmas either," she said.

He shook his head. "It's much better than Halloween."

They sat back on the couch, admiring the decorations. "They say going through a traumatic experience brings people closer together," said Beth, "and a visit from my mum definitely counts. I think we're becoming actual friends now."

He didn't say anything.

"I meant it about owing you one," she continued. "And regifting this book to you isn't a big enough repayment." She tossed her mother's gift to him.

He laughed as he caught it.

"You helped me get back on my mother's good side, even if it's just based on a lie. Could I help you with your father?"

"I don't see how," he said.

"Well, the same way. We make a convincing couple, don't we? We get along well enough. So you introduce me to your dad as your girlfriend."

John's brow was wrinkled in confusion. "But why?"

"So he thinks you're straight. Tell him that thing with Sirius was just a phase, and you like girls now, or you finally met the right one or whatever. If my mum fell for it, your dad should too."

Realization slowly broke across John's face. Then he was laughing too hard to talk for quite some time. "You thought..." he finally choked out. "You thought I was queer? You thought Sirius and I... Oh Merlin, you told all the girls at the club, didn't you? That's why they've been treating me like that." He mulled this over. "On the one hand, it's unjust that I get no credit for being the only actual gentleman in a gentlemen's club. On the other, it has been interesting to be treated as one of the girls."

"You're not gay?"

"Definitely not."

"And Sirius wasn't your boyfriend."

"Definitely not. Well. There was that one time we were both really drunk, but I don't really remember what happened and I don't think that counts."

"You've had girlfriends?"

"Well. I mean. I'm only twenty-one. I wasn't very popular in school, and then I was too busy fighting a war to have time for such things."

"You're only twenty-one? My mum would have been on my case for robbing the cradle if she knew. You look older."

"Yes. Anyway, I may never have had a girlfriend, but I've only ever been attracted to girls. Women, I mean. Don't look at me like that, I'm telling the truth. You just hate to be proven wrong."

"Then why is your father disappointed in you?"

There was dead silence in the flat, broken only by Marmalade's frantic rush past them from the bedroom to the litter box in the bathroom.

"What did that little circle on your diagram represent? Tell me," said Beth. "If we're friends now. You know my secret, I should know yours."

"This isn't an equal exchange," he said. "Mine is considerably worse than yours."

"Tell me."

"I've got to go clean up the kitchen."

"That can wait."

Tap tap tap. Beth glared at the owl.

John let it in eagerly. "Yet another Christmas card," he said. He took it from the owl and read it. "It's from Augusta, Frank's mother. She's visiting Frank and Alice in the hospital today. I think I'll join her. Could you please give her owl some cat food before sending it off? Just tell it no reply." He grabbed his coat and disappeared with a loud crack before he even put it on.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Amber pulled Beth aside. "I think that guy's a cop. Don't look suspicious!" she said in a frantic whisper.

"Who?"

"That black guy. Wearing that purple thing. Is that a dashiki? Some African pride thing."

Beth stole a glance. He was noticeable, even in that dark corner, with the multicolor stage lights gleaming off his bald head. His broad shoulders filled out his exotic purple outfit impressively. He sat with a much less imposing red-haired man in an unfashionable suit who was looking around giddily, but the black man seemed more reserved, scanning the room with professional detachment. Both men had beers, but only the redhead was drinking. "That's certainly not a police uniform," said Beth.

"Well duh, he's undercover."

"He's probably off-duty. So what? Even cops like to have fun on New Year's Eve. He could probably help John out if the customers get out of control."

"He's here to bust us, I know it! What do we do?"

"Bust us for what? We're not doing anything illegal."

Amber glared at her. "A girl's gotta make a living. You won't be so proud in a few years. Oh no, now John is going over to talk to him, and he's already been on my case! Talk to him, he's _your_ friend!" As if Beth had brought this rule-enforcer to Amber's workplace just to annoy her.

"I'll find out what's going on," Beth assured her. She reached the table in the dark corner only slightly after John.

"Does Molly know you're here?" John was smirking at the redhead.

"Of course she does," he replied, although his face was turning a shade of pink that clashed horribly with his orange hair. "I told her I was interested in researching muggle culture, and she said to go on without me. She said she was so tired, she just wanted a quiet evening at home."

"With seven kids? Quiet?" laughed John.

"Well, Bill's home from school for the break, so he can help out. Very responsible lad."

John looked up at Beth's approach. "Beth!" he said happily. "Here are some people I'd like you to meet."

The black man had also noticed Beth's arrival. With moderate difficulty, he pulled his gaze up to her face and held his large hand out to shake. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he said in a quiet and very deep voice. "I recognized you from the memory Remus gave us. He tells me you're keeping quiet about our world."

Beth nodded, terrified, as her hand disappeared limply into his. An Obliviator was here to erase her memory. She'd lose the last month of her life. On the bright side, it wouldn't be so bad to lose Christmas brunch.

"Thanks, we appreciate it," his deep voice continued. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. Despite Remus's usual heroics, and my department's best efforts, your attacker was freed once he got to the court system. That boy's family has powerful connections."

He addressed John. "It wasn't a Confundus charm. I did a Priori Incantatem on his wand. It was an Imperius curse."

This apparently meant something to John, who looked furious. "They let him go even after that?"

"My report somehow vanished between my desk and the prosecutor's office. I'm sorry, you know I can't make too much of a fuss or things could get difficult for me at work. I'm walking a tightrope already."

"What the fuck did we just fight a war for?" said John bitterly.

"At least they have to be discreet about it now," said Kingsley. "Hopefully, he'll avoid this place, but if he dares to give you any more trouble, Beth, please let Remus know. He and I, and Arthur here, and some of our other friends, occasionally engage in some extrajudicial justice. I wish it weren't necessary, but the system is what it is."

"And all I did was disarm him, as if we were still in the fucking dueling club," grumbled John. "If he dares show up here again, I won't hold back."

"I'll help," said Kingsley.

"I'll help hide the body," contributed the redhead cheerfully. He smiled at her over his beer and held his freckled hand out to shake hers. "Arthur Weasley at your service. Always happy to help out muggles. Amazing place you've got here. Fascinating. I've never seen the like. When Kingsley described the scene of the crime to me, I didn't believe such a place existed. I said we had to investigate, in the interest of intercultural understanding and cooperation of course."

Kingsley looked around, then addressed John, or Remus, rather. "I know Alastor has been doing his best to recruit you, and we certainly could use a good man like you in the department, but I can understand why you've been saying no." His grin was very white in his dark face. "I'm starting to reconsider my own career choice. Had I known your job existed, I might never have become an Auror myself."

John laughed. "It's rather agonizing actually. These are my coworkers you know. Our relationship has to stay professional."

Of course, at that point, Tina had to walk by and pinch his arse. "You working or socializing tonight?"

"I'm explaining the rules to these customers," he said. "They've never been to a gentlemen's club before."

"Ah. Carry on." She addressed the two customers. "You'll want to be closer to the stage for this next act. Believe me." She walked off, twitching her hips in a practiced way. She went back to the DJ booth, cued up the next song as the last one ended, and announced the next stage performer over the P.A. system. "The beautiful, the amazing, Onyx!"

"Merlin's pointy purple hat!" exclaimed Arthur. "How can she do that without magic?" He was looking towards the stage. Beth could tell without even turning around that Onyx was pole dancing.

"I suppose I actually should do my job and explain how this works," said John. "You brought muggle money, right?"

"I brought this. Is this enough?" said Arthur.

"That's a ten-pound note. If you want the best view, you'd be better off getting change, so you can tip one pound at a time. Tipping is mandatory at the stage."

"I can make change for you," said Beth helpfully, pulling ten one-pound notes from her garter. Arthur looked blank when she pulled her garter aside for him to tuck his ten in, so she just took it from his hand with hers. "Have fun," she said. She went off to reassure Amber, as John led his friends closer to the stage.

—-

When Beth's turn to dance on stage came around again, she went to the dressing room to check her hair, makeup, and clothes.

It was going to feel awkward to strip in front of two men she'd been introduced to, and whose hands she'd shaken. It was different from stripping in the same room as John, who avoided looking at her. She took a deep breath. She'd do her job, and show John's friends a good time.

Tina announced her. "Next up is Beth, the girl with the most stunningly gorgeous legs!"

Beth tried to turn her embarrassed smile into a confident one as the music started and she walked onto the stage in what felt like very comfortable trainers. Tips had been better in the last week, when she'd been wearing the magic shoes, but probably at least some of that was because of the holiday season. Besides being comfortable, the shoes made her legs look great. John had said something about the glamour charms extending up her legs.

She had three minutes to dance, strip, dance again, and collect her tips. She approached the pole with some trepidation. She couldn't do anything like Onyx's acrobatics. She did some swinging from it that she hoped was graceful. She leaned against it in a pose that hopefully was flattering to her long-looking legs. She wrapped a leg around it and arched her back away from it. That was probably enough of that.

She targeted a customer to take off her top in front of. Eye contact, top off, boob shake, a quid in her garter, on to the next. Hotpants off, only slightly tangled in her confusing shoes. Another pound earned. She turned her back to the next customer and reached down as if to touch her toes, pulling her g-string down on the way. She smiled, upside-down, at the customer, and collected another pound.

Break for more attempted pole dancing, wearing only her garter, three pounds, and magically comfortable stilettos. Maybe Onyx would give her lessons if she asked.

Odd that the ineptitude of her dancing was what embarrassed her. She must be getting used to this job. Anyway, time to collect more tips.

Oy, Arthur was next, wearing a goofy grin. She did a move that customers always liked: an acrobatic-seeming side roll, easier than it looked. As she rolled onto her back, she swung one long leg through the air, then swung the other leg to follow it. She couldn't do a full split, but at least she could give the customers a good view.

Arthur tried to hand her a quid. "It's OK for you to tuck it into my garter," she whispered to him, offering him her thigh.

"Can't touch a woman other than my wife," he whispered back apologetically. "I mean, shaking hands is fine, but this would be a bit much. Old-fashioned unbreakable marriage vow, you know. Go on, take the money, you've more than earned it."

Beth took the money and tucked it in her garter herself, gave him a smile, and moved on to Kingsley, who was not wearing a wedding ring. She performed the same routine in front of him. Then she discovered that it actually was possible for this situation to get more awkward and embarrassing.

"Nice shoes," he said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Very glamorous."

He knew she wasn't really this beautiful, that was just an illusion. She blushed over this, of all things.

"Knowing how it's done in no way diminishes my appreciation of the results," he assured her, slowly tucking a five-pound note into her garter. "It's all part of the artistry. I didn't intend to make you blush, but it is very interesting seeing how far that blush extends."

"Um. You realize that's a fiver, right? You don't have to tip more than one pound."

"I know what it is. Thank you for accepting this very inadequate token of my admiration. This view is worth much more than money."

Damn he was smooth.

Onyx had been waiting politely for Beth to get her tip from Arthur. She moved in as soon as Beth was done with him. "Would you like a lapdance?"

"While your offer is extremely tempting, I cannot accept," he said. "I just spent the last of the money I brought, and must vacate this seat."

"Your friend is very generous," said Onyx, glancing at Kingsley. "I'm sure he'd loan you a few more pounds. You don't have to end the evening so early."

"No, it's high time I went home to my wife anyway. Got to give her a kiss at the New Year of course. Thank you for a delightful evening's entertainment."

Kingsley got up too. Onyx rushed to his side. "You're not leaving already, are you? You haven't even had a lapdance!"

"I have to work tomorrow," Kingsley apologized. "I need to go home to sleep."

"Working on New Year's Day?" she asked skeptically.

"I'm supposed to be on the docks at seven AM to investigate a smuggling ring. Catch them unaware. And hungover. It won't be nearly as fun as this, but that's my job. Perhaps another time," he apologized. Then he took her hand in his and kissed it. Beth wondered if her giddy reaction to this courtly gesture was genuine, as Onyx wasn't usually such a good actress. "Oh, I'm supposed to tip you for that, aren't I?" He tucked a five-pound note in her garter.

"Can you imagine what Alastor would do if he caught me that distracted?" Kingsley said to Arthur on their way out.

"Jump out of a shadow at you, swinging that awful staff at your head and shouting 'Constant vigilance!'" Arthur answered. Then the two of them had a good laugh.

Beth was a bit distracted herself. She looked away from the two wizards and continued her rounds, collecting her tips from all the customers around the stage, until the song was finally over and she collected her scattered clothes and took them backstage.

—-

1982 arrived at midnight, as expected. Tina tried to convince the customers that having a naked dancer on your lap at the turning of the year was good luck. Beth started the new year on the lap of a portly grey-haired man wearing too much cologne, who nagged her for a kiss at midnight, but fortunately took no for an answer.

At two AM, John finally ushered the last customers out. The dancers mobbed John as usual, giving him money and thanks.

"Anyone want leftover refreshments before I throw them out?" asked Tina, pointing to the snack table.

"That includes the alcohol, right?" said Amber.

Tina pursed her lips.

"Come on, you made us work on New Year's!" whined Amber. "When do we get to party?"

"Oh, all right," said Tina. "But I didn't make you work. You knew tips would be good tonight."

John broke out of the mob and made a beeline for the snacks. "Beth, this is dinner," he called. "Sorry, I'm too tired to make anything once we get home."

"I wouldn't ask you to," she said.

Onyx came by to pay John, and eat crisps and dip as ravenously as him.

He immediately stepped back to give her better access to the snacks. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be hogging this. There's not much of this dip left, but you can finish it if you want, I've had enough."

"See, I told you you were intimidating," remarked Tina, strolling past Onyx to grab a carrot stick.

Onyx smirked at Tina, then pushed the dip towards John. "You're fine. Have more if you want. You usually cook dinner?"

"Oh yes," he said. "And clean. Beth can explain, it's all part of me being a dainty little girly man. That's how she figured out I was gay. You can't put anything past Beth."

Beth nearly choked on her crisp.

Onyx looked back and forth between the two of them, hesitant to join in their laughter at what was obviously a private joke. "It is pretty obvious. Everyone knows all the good ones are taken or gay. Anyway, since you're so good at the feminine arts, it stands to reason that you could also pole dance."

John laughed.

"No, really," she said. "You'd be good at it. You've got strength, grace, agility. I've seen how you handle some of these problem customers. Do you dance?"

"Well. I have. Do strathspeys count?"

"What?"

"I went to school in Scotland, so something like Scottish country dancing was... completely inapplicable to this situation. Never mind."

"Go on, try it. Don't worry, there's no one here but us girls."

He laughed again. "It does look fun, like you're flying. I am tempted to try it. I think I'll need a drink first. This calls for some liquid courage."

Every woman in the place rushed to get him a drink.

He laughed again. "I see what's going on. After working hard all night, you want some entertainment yourselves, and what could be more amusing that watching me make a fool of myself? I dare say you've earned it, after providing so much entertainment for others. I live to serve, of course. I need to be at least a little drunk to act like a complete fool." He downed the drink Onyx was offering him, thanked her, and handed the glass back. Then he took a running leap at the pole and swung around it like a kid at a playground.

Everyone whooped and applauded. John bowed, mock-seriously. Beth was glad to see him finally having fun.

Tina, who'd been collecting the house fee from each dancer, waved a bill at John. "I think you've earned a tip. Come over here."

He did, but only to pluck the money out of her hand and put it in his pocket. "Thank you. Sorry, I'm not wearing a garter."

"Someone get this man a garter!" she shouted.

He laughed at her. "But if I discover that stripping is my true calling, you'll have no bouncer, and we can't have that. I don't want Ralph coming back. From what I hear, he'd just gawk at my nubile young body, and never tip me."

Everyone laughed. "I think you've earned another drink," said Tina, handing it to him. He threw his head back and gulped it down.

"But you're a natural," persisted Onyx. "Now try this." She demonstrated a move, not too difficult by her standards. Damn she was beautiful. Beth felt a pang somewhere between envy and lust. How could anyone be attracted to men when women like Onyx existed?

John tried it, and slid down the pole to bump comically on the floor, a move that seemed calculated to be the opposite of Onyx's grace. He got up with difficulty, waving aside Onyx's offer of assistance, and bowed again as everyone laughed. "Ow. I need something to numb the pain. Thank you." He grabbed the drink Amber was holding out to him and drank it. "Alas, my dream of being a stripper is shattered, as no one would want to see my bruised purple arse. I shall attempt to drown my sorrows. Thank you." Next he accepted the drink Candi was foisting on him and downed it.

"Don't be discouraged!" said Onyx. "I'm sorry, I forgot that a lot of these moves don't really work in clothes. Clothes slip on the pole. Skin is much grippier. If you at least took off your shirt—"

John's laughter was very loud. "Alas, a promising stripping career is cut short by that unfortunate taking-off-clothing requirement. No one wants to see me with my shirt off."

The chorus of objections to this claim was deafening.

"No, no. No, I don't mean no to the drink, yes to the drink of course, thank you," he said, taking what Tina was offering him and gulping it fast. "I mean no to taking my shirt off. Really, you don't want to see that. I mean it. You're all such beauties, and I'm a beast. I'm nothing but scars. The sight of me would ruin your whole party. You want some light entertainment, not a fucking horror show."

"I'm sure you're gorgeous," said Tina, refilling his glass at the bar. "You just need to loosen up a little."

"I need to pass out is what I need," he said, walking to the bar in pursuit of his glass. "And fast, before I do something inappropriate to a coworker. Just look, don't touch. Very wise words to live by, applies to more than just strippers. I was warned, but did I listen? No. My whole life would have gone much better if I'd only followed that rule. Everything I touch goes completely to hell." He reached towards the drink, and Beth watched in shock as it slid across the bar, seemingly under its own power, into his hand, splashing slightly as he grabbed it. He lifted it to his lips.

"John, you've had enough," said Beth. "Don't drink that."

They locked eyes for a moment. He didn't argue with her, just set it back down on the bar.

"We're leaving," said Beth, to the groans and complaints of everyone in the club. She led John out into the cold of three in the morning, New Year's Day.

When she felt his arm around her, she wriggled away and asked, "Are you safe to apparate us home?"

"Of course. Fine."

"Why did you tell that guy he shouldn't apparate when drunk?"

"Oh. Splinching. Can leave body parts behind. I'm fine to apparate though. I'm not drunk. Come on, I've got to get us back to your flat before I pass out." He tried to swing an arm around Beth again, but she ducked out from under it. He stood there, swaying and confused.

"We're taking a taxi," she said firmly.

"Anything you say," he said. He gave in so easily. She went to the payphone and called for a cab.

"Anything you want," he continued. "Anything for my friends. Ride in a taxi, fly on a hippogriff, cover up an attempted murder, no problem. Fuck I'm pathetic."

"Murder?"

"Not now. Back in school. Sirius. Tried to murder another kid. I covered for him, didn't call the Aurors. I didn't want to mess up my friendship with a fucking murderer. Attempted murderer. At the time. Mass murderer now. That's how fucking desperate for friends I was. Am. Was. I thought if I pretended I wasn't a monster, if I acted nice enough, I could have friends, but look at the kind of friend I attracted. Just another monster. I should have known."

"I don't think you should talk about murder once the taxi gets here."

"It's taking forever."

"They're busy on New Year's."

"I'll just apparate. Who cares if I splinch? You take the taxi, though. I'd probably just throw up in it. I ruin everything."

"John. You need your wand to apparate, right?"

"Yeah."

"Give me your wand." She held her hand out.

He stared, swaying slightly. "What?"

"Your wand. Hand it over. I'll give it back when you're sober. You do anything your friends ask, right? I'm just asking to borrow your wand, not to cover up any murders or anything."

He gulped, but he handed it over. She fit it in an inner pocket of her coat.

John leaned against the wall, and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the sidewalk. "I shouldn't have a wand anyway," he said.

"Not when you're drunk, no," she said. "I'd take your car keys if you had them, and I figure this is the same thing. Friends look out for each other."

"I shouldn't have friends either. That's how I fucked everything up, trying to have friends. I'm not a real wizard, I'm a dark creature. I shouldn't have a wand or friends or job or live in a flat like a real person. My father was right. I'm evil, soulless, deserving nothing but death."

Beth was going to kill everyone who'd gotten him a drink. And his dad. She sat next to him. "You're not evil," she said. "That's ridiculous. You're the nicest guy I've ever met. I'm glad you're my friend. Oh look, that must be our taxi. Come on." She pulled him up. He docilely allowed himself to be led.

He kept his mouth shut in the taxi, neither speaking nor puking. She unlocked the doors with her keys. Once in their flat, he fumbled to put the sheets back on the couch. "You're not going to give me my wand back tonight?"

"No," she said firmly. Presumably he wouldn't try to apparate, but what other trouble could he get up to with a wand? She wouldn't risk it.

"I can't put up the silencing spells," he complained. He stood there blankly. "Even if I had my wand, I'm too drunk to do them properly. Fuck, what am I going to do?"

"Silencing spells?" she asked, confused.

"The ones I always do," he explained. "So you can't hear me."

"Oh. That's very considerate of you. You snore?"

"Scream. Nightmares. They wake me up every night."

"Oh. Um. I'll probably just sleep through, don't worry about it."

"I'll wake the neighbors. They'll call the police. Fuck, I'm too drunk for this." He sat on the couch and pulled at his hair. "Wait, do I have any sober-up potion?" With some difficulty, he unlocked his brown trunk and rummaged through it. It seemed to be an ordinary trunk. "Fuck. I gave the last of mine to Sirius. Oh wait, I do have this." He pulled out a bottle. "Dreamless Sleep potion." He got a measuring spoon from the kitchen, very carefully filled it with potion, and drank it. "Madam Pomfrey said not to get dependent on it, since it's addictive, but this is a special occasion." He collapsed on the couch and closed his eyes. "Oh wait," he said. "She also said not to combine it with alcohol. I wonder why?" The next moment, he was quietly snoring.

He'd left the potion bottle open on the trunk. Beth picked it up to stick the cork back in. It was mostly full, and she didn't want it spilling. She looked at it. On the back, it did say in rather large letters, DO NOT COMBINE WITH ALCOHOL. DO NOT USE CONTINUOUSLY FOR MORE THAN ONE WEEK. DO NOT EXCEED THE RECOMMENDED DOSAGE. IN CASE OF INGESTION OF MORE THAN THE RECOMMENDED DOSAGE, CONTACT A HEALER IMMEDIATELY. RECOMMENDED FOR HUMAN USE ONLY.

She was tempted to open his trunk to put the bottle away, as he hadn't locked it, and it was probably full of other interesting things, but in an act of extreme self-control, she didn't. She watched him drool in his sleep. She'd never seen him sleep before, as his normal sleep was so light, he sprang to wakefulness as soon as she entered the room. This alcohol- and potion-induced sleep was quite different.

Beth brushed her teeth and removed her makeup. She showered. She felt exhausted, but somehow too restless for sleep.

She stopped by John on her way back through the living room. He looked so peaceful. And flushed. And gleaming with sweat. The bottle had said not to mix with alcohol. She knelt by him. Was he all right? What would she do if he wasn't? She brushed his sand-colored hair away from his forehead and touched his skin. He felt hot. That was probably bad.

His eyes popped open, and then she knew it was really, really bad. They weren't John's eyes. They gleamed yellow, not brown. He grinned malevolently at her shock, revealing the pointed teeth of a carnivore. In an instant, he'd sprung off the couch and pinned her beneath him on the floor. "You smell delicious," he said through his fangs.


	7. Chapter 7

He was always on-edge when she accidentally woke him up. He always seemed paranoid, even violent, for that moment before he got his bearings, realized he was safe, and reverted to his usual mild-mannered self. She must have just never noticed before that in these paranoid moments, his eyes glowed yellow, and his teeth were inhuman fangs. Then again, she'd never had such a close view of his face, as he'd never knocked her to the floor and pinned her there with the crushing weight of his body until now. His strength and fighting skills, such a comfort when used in her defense, gave a different impression when used to attack her.

"John, stop!"

Her attacker laughed. "He's asleep. I'm the only one awake in here. He can't stop me now. Nearly every day, I'm stuck looking through his eyes, feeling through his skin, but he never lets me do anything I want to do. Like this." He yanked her bathrobe open so she was naked under him, her arms trapped in the terrycloth.

This was one hell of a weird drug interaction. Instead of preventing dreams, could it somehow make nightmares real? This could only be a nightmare.

She screamed as he licked her breast. She screamed harder when she felt the pinpricks of his pointed teeth stabbing into her skin.

He stopped biting her to look her in the face again with his eerie yellow eyes. "Shut up," he said. "Or I'll rip your throat out." He moved his fangs to her throat to demonstrate his sincerity. She felt those points of pain close around her windpipe. Something dripped down her neck to the floor, her blood or his saliva, she couldn't tell which.

He took his jaws off her throat to look in her face again. "You're crying," he grinned with those inhuman fangs. Then he ran his tongue along her face, licking her tears. She cringed in disgust. "Salty, like blood. I like it."

She attempted to wrestle free, but he just laughed and gripped her harder. "It's so weird to have hands," he remarked. He looked at one of his hands. As they looked, John's short-bitten nails transformed into long black claws. "Hm," her attacker said, dissatisfied. "I guess that's as close as I can get to my true form without moonlight. I'll make do. So many possibilities, with a body that's almost human. Should I fuck you or kill you first?" He ran his sharp claws down her side.

She screamed again, and his fangs returned to her windpipe, delivering a warning crush made of many tiny stabs. She stopped screaming. "John," she pleaded quietly. But this wasn't John. He'd said they had perfect disguises, that's why he asked security questions. That was why he'd woken in a panic that first night, terrified that she was an imposter, because magical disguises were so good. That was the thing to do, ask him a security question. Another part of her brain wondered what good that would do, since this was not a perfect disguise, in fact it was a hell of a bad one. This obviously wasn't John. He'd been replaced by an imposter when she was in the shower, despite all the security spells he'd cast on their flat. She had no solution to this problem, and confirming the direness of the situation would do no good at all, but then another part of her brain told this critical part of her brain to shut the fuck up unless it had a better idea, which it didn't, so it did. "John," she said. "What was the name of that cake you baked for Christmas brunch? Some traditional Welsh thing, with dried fruits and spices? Your mother's recipe? What was that called again?"

Her attacker froze. Beth felt the fangs on her neck reform into blunt, human teeth. He looked into her face again as his eyes turned from yellow to his usual brown. John was awake, and he was horrified. He sprang off her and stumbled backwards until he hit the wall behind him, which separated the living room from the kitchen. He slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, then started to bang his head against the wall, over and over.

"John, stop!" she said.

He kept banging his head like a madman. Which, she couldn't deny, he apparently was.

"John!" she tried. "You'll damage the wall! I won't get my security deposit back!"

He stopped. "Sorry," he said. "Oh god Beth, I'm so sorry. He bit you, didn't he? I remember biting you. Did he break the skin? Are you bleeding? I don't think I taste blood. I taste—" He suddenly bolted to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.

"I... I don't know." She couldn't see her neck. It felt wet. She ran and looked herself over in the mirror by the door. She didn't see any blood. She desperately wanted another shower. When John staggered out of the bathroom, looking pale, she ran in and took one, scrubbing at where the monster had touched her.

When she had tied her bathrobe tightly around her and braved the living room again, John was sitting on the couch, drinking straight from the Dreamless Sleep bottle. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Solving the problem," he said. He looked calm.

"That stuff caused the problem in the first place!"

"The problem didn't start tonight. The problem's been around since I was four. I just didn't drink enough of it tonight to permanently fix things. I drank only enough to knock _me_ out. I need to take enough for both of us, he and I. The whole bottle should do it." He tilted it back and poured the last drops into his mouth.

She screamed. "No! It says not to take too much!"

"I had to kill the creature that attacked you," he said slowly. "You're my friend, and he attacked you, so he has to die. Unfortunately we're in the same body. Body. Damn, I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean to stick you with funeral expenses. Sorry. In my trunk, the Christmas cards, my father's address..." He fell off the couch and lay still on the floor. The bottle rolled a short distance, then stopped.

Beth called an ambulance and got dressed fast. Then she opened his trunk and grabbed the stack of Christmas cards, stuffing them in her coat pocket as she heard the siren approach.

"He overdosed on... this." She handed the paramedic the empty bottle. "And he also had a lot of alcohol."

"Yeah, we've seen a lot of that tonight," he said casually. "Good thing you called us. He'll be fine." Then he looked at the bottle. "Haven't seen this, though. What is this?"

"He took a little, a spoonful, to prevent nightmares, but then he woke up acting very strange, and then he drank the whole bottle."

"Huh. Well, whatever was in here, a stomach pump should get it out of him. We'll test for what drug residue is in here and give him the antidote."

She rode in the ambulance with him to the hospital. The paramedics started off cheerful, assuring her that they'd seen many patients just like this tonight and had helped them all, but they were less cheerful when John didn't react as expected to their ministrations. They transferred him to the hospital along with the potion bottle, with urgent instructions to test the dregs, since it was something quite unusual, some weird designer drug.

He wasn't recovering. The doctors were angry, not wanting to admit they were stumped by this drug they'd never seen before. She realized what she had to do.

She called a taxi. "I need to be at the docks by seven AM."

She arrived with two minutes to spare. She threw some money at the bleary-eyed driver, then jumped when she heard a loud crack. It seemed to come from the alley between two warehouses. She ran there. "Kingsley!" she cried when she saw him. She barely recognized him, sharply dressed in a dark outfit that gave the impression of a law-enforcement uniform without actually being one, but his bald head was the same.

He pointed his wand at her immediately. "You have the advantage of me, Miss..."

"John introduced us last night. Sorry, you know him as Remus. Remus John Lupin. I'm Beth Smyth, his flatmate. And coworker."

"Oh." He turned a slightly warmer shade of dark brown as he lowered his wand. "Sorry, I didn't recognize you with your clothes on, as they say. To what do I owe this meeting?"

"It's Remus. He's in the hospital."

"What? How? What happened?"

"He got really drunk last night, and then he drank a whole bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion."

"He what?! Why?"

"He seemed depressed."

"Merlin and Morgana! He... I should have known, he must have been upset since Halloween."

"I think so."

"But you got him to the hospital. St. Mungo's, right?"

"What? No. University Hospital."

Kingsley stared. "A muggle hospital?"

"Yes. I didn't know what else to do. But they can't help him."

Kingsley thought for a moment, then waved his wand. " _Expecto patronum_." A magnificent silver lynx appeared, illuminating the alley, twitching its tail. "Tell Crouch I need to take a personal day today. Sorry. Something came up." Then he sent the lynx running, powerfully and gracefully, into nothingness. "Where is this hospital?" He took a map out of his pocket for her to point it out on. "Hm. I haven't been there, but I have been here," a spot nearby on the map, "so I could apparate us pretty close. Can you tolerate being side-along apparated?"

"Sure," she said. "That's how we commute from work."

"Hold on." They took hold of each other, and after the usual unpleasant squeezing sensation, they were in yet another alley. Beth was spending a lot of time in alleys recently. They ran to the hospital.

"We're here to visit Remus John Lupin," Kingsley, who did not seem out of breath, said to the receptionist.

"Only relatives are allowed to visit," she said. "And only during visiting hours. Are you..." She drifted off. Beth noticed that Kingsley had his wand out, and was aiming it discretely at the receptionist. "Room four B9," she said. She pointed. "That way to the elevators, then follow the signs."

"Thank you," said Kingsley. They hurried to the room, Kingsley waving his wand at anyone who tried to stop them, which made them lose interest.

They finally got to John's room. A nurse jumped when she saw them enter. "What are you doing here?"

Kingsley pointed his wand. "The patient made a full recovery and checked himself out. Fix the records to reflect that. Now unhook him from all this stuff. Get that needle out of his arm."

She did, then left the room.

Kingsley tenderly picked John up from the bed. He was wearing just a hospital gown. She'd never seen his arms and legs before. They were crisscrossed with scars, like his face and hands. "Are his clothes around here? His wand?"

"I have his wand in my pocket. His clothes... oh, in this bag. Got them."

"I can side-along apparate the two of you if you hold on," he said. She did, hugging his side as he clutched John to his chest. It was pleasantly distracting to consider that John did have friends to look after him. Kingsley obviously cared for him a great deal. Halloween had been traumatic for him, but he'd recover once he reconnected with his friends.

They arrived on the sidewalk of a shopping district, all shops closed for New Year's Day. They were right in front of an extra-closed looking shop called Purge and Dowse, Ltd. Signs on all the doors declared it was CLOSED FOR REFURBISHMENT. Beth was glad no one was there to see Kingsley talk through the shop window to an ugly mannequin wearing a lopsided wig and an unfashionable summer dress. "Medical emergency. Potion overdose."

The mannequin nodded and beckoned him with one finger.

"Come on," he said to Beth. "I don't know if there are any anti-muggle wards on the entrance. It might help if you hold my arm and close your eyes."

She did, and allowed him to lead her through what felt like a sheet of cool water, although she was dry once she reached the warmth of the other side.

When she opened her eyes, there was no sign of the mannequin or the dusty window display. Instead they were in a crowded reception area. Some effort had been made to relieve the sterile look of a hospital with Christmas decorations. In some cases, it was hard to tell which were Christmas decorations and which were patients.

With a disgusting noise, a woman in the waiting area threw up a large puddle of brightly glowing fairy lights. Her friend, who had holly growing out of her ears, sighed and cleaned up the mess with her wand. A guy was tenderly cradling a champagne bottle that was looking around the room with frightened blue eyes. A woman in short sparkly dress had an annoyed expression and very long legs with too many knees.

The place was so busy, Beth was concerned they might have a long wait. They approached the receptionist, but Kingsley suddenly pulled her back when one wizard was brought in on two stretchers. "Splinching, go right through to the fourth floor, Spell Damage," said the bored-sounding receptionist, and the various pieces of the patient were rushed through.

Beth was very glad she'd prevented John from apparating while drunk.

As an orderly cleaned the blood off the floor, Kingsley strode confidently to the receptionist. "This is urgent. My friend overdosed on Dreamless Sleep potion and alcohol," Kingsley explained to, according to the sign, the Welcome Witch. She didn't look particularly welcoming. Beth wondered if he was going to control this witch's mind to get faster service as he had controlled people at the normal hospital. It would be hard to tell if he was using magic or not, as he had the confidence of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

"I'll call a healer from level three, Potions and Plant Poisoning." She tapped a button on her desk, and a man in lime green robes immediately apparated to them.

He quickly and calmly scanned John with his wand. Then he did it again, slower, and considerably less calmly. Then he glared at Kingsley and Beth. "This is a hospital," he said. "We treat beings here, not beasts, and certainly not dark creatures."

"What?" said Kingsley. He was still holding the comatose John, his head flopped on his broad shoulder. "What do you mean, dark creatures?"

"Werewolves are classified as dark creatures," explained the healer, as if to an idiot. "We don't treat them here. Take it to, I don't know, maybe some specialized veterinarian deals with them."

"But he's not a..." Kingsley trailed off. He looked at John. Then he abruptly dropped him to the clean tile floor and recoiled in horror.

Beth shrieked and knelt beside John, flopped awkwardly on the floor.

"I touched it," said Kingsley. "I can't believe I touched it. Get away from it, Beth, it's disgusting."

"He's not an it!" she yelled. "What's going on? You said this hospital would help him!"

"It's a werewolf," said Kingsley.

"And we don't treat werewolves," added the healer. "Now are you going to remove your werewolf, or do we have to call the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"I'll remove it," said Kingsley. "Sorry to bother you." He pointed his wand at John. " _Mobilicorpus_." John floated upright like some eerie zombie or ghost or, well, other dark creature.

Beth followed Kingsley and the eerily floating John out of the hospital. Then she stared at the two of them, who both seemed equally lacking in ideas.

"So who will heal him?" she prompted.

"Well, healing isn't what you do with werewolves," Kingsley explained. "You hunt werewolves. You kill them. We could deliver it to the Werewolf Capture Unit, they'd handle it."

"I don't like the sound of that."

He shrugged. "You have a better idea?"

"We have to save him! He's my friend! I thought he was your friend too!"

"Of course he was my friend!" boomed Kingsley's deep voice. "You think I'm not upset he's dead? We can't cling to this monster that's taken his form and think it's the same man. We'll take him to the Werewolf Research Institute, and then we'll have a body to bury at a proper funeral."

"No!" she screamed. She thumped Kingsley's broad chest with her fists, which had no effect whatsoever. "He's still your friend! He was your friend last night! What's different now? He's the same man he was last night."

"You're a muggle," he said. Tears were in his eyes too. "You don't understand dark creatures. They can be very convincing. Believe me, our friend is dead. There's nothing anyone can do. Oh Merlin, Remus..." He turned away and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. His deep voice intoned, "He must have been the bravest warrior to ever come out of Gryffindor tower—"

"Shut up with the fucking eulogy! I don't care that he's a werewolf. That's just prejudice, like racism, like, come on, you must have suffered from prejudice in your own life, right? This is the same thing."

Kingsley blinked at her. "What are you talking about? The Shacklebolts are a very old and respected pureblood wizarding family. We're listed in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. That healer didn't turn this werewolf away because Remus was a halfblood, he turned it away because Remus is already dead, killed by a werewolf. He must have been bitten recently. After Halloween, he must have been too upset to be on his guard. Oh Merlin, someone should have been looking after him, but he just disappeared, and I guess none of us thought—"

"He's not dead yet!"

"Yes he is."

"You don't get to decide that! Look! He has all these other friends!" She pulled the stack of Christmas cards from her pocket. "This one's from his father. He'll help him."

"His father's an exterminator."

"So?"

"He kills dark creatures for a living. He kills werewolves."

"Oh." Did he know what his son was? He must. Why else would his son be a disappointment to him? "He knows," she said. "His father knows. But he'll help him."

Kingsley looked skeptical. "Even if he wanted to, he's not a healer."

Beth looked at the next card on the stack. "Poppy Pomfrey. That name's familiar. Madam Pomfrey! He said Madam Pomfrey told him not to mix that potion with alcohol."

"She's the nurse at Hogwarts. Our old school. If anyone can help him, she can."

A rush of relief flooded through her. "Let's go!"

"But she won't. It would go against her healer's oath to help a dark creature."

"You don't know that!" She opened the card and read it.

Dear Remus,

I'm so glad to hear from you. I worry about you every full moon. I do hope you have someone to take care of you these days. Please let me know if I can ever be of assistance to you. I really mean that. The hospital wing just doesn't seem the same without you visiting every month.

Sincerely,

Poppy Pomfrey

Beth defiantly showed the card to Kingsley. He read it in shock. "Impossible," he said weakly.

"You have to take him to her," she said. "I don't know anyone else who can apparate."

"But..." he looked at John, still floating there.

"Yes, you have to touch him," she said. "At least you don't have to give some gross guy a lapdance. Just deal with it."

He put his reluctant arms around John. "You coming?" Beth grabbed hold of him. "It's pretty far to Scotland," he apologized. "Hold on tight." She did, and they were off.

She'd thought previous trips were bad, but they hadn't been nearly as bad as this. After far too much squeezing and spinning, there was a loud crack, and the air was suddenly much colder. She let go of Kingsley to avoid throwing up on him. Kingsley let go of John and resumed floating him with his wand.

"Sorry," he said. "And we're not there yet. There are anti-apparition wards around the school. We'll have to walk the rest of the way." He pointed, but there was nothing there but an old ruin. If the school was past that, it was pretty far.

They both looked at John, with the cold wind rippling his thin blue hospital gown. He wasn't shivering, and had no goosebumps. That was probably bad. He was breathing, but very slowly.

"You have his clothes?" asked Kingsley. She held up the bag, but didn't have a good plan for quickly dressing a floating unconscious person. No matter, with a few flicks of Kingsley's wand, John was at least wearing his trousers and coat in addition to his hospital gown. Those wands were damn useful.

Two walked and one floated past a sign that read, DANGER, FALLING ROCKS, DO NOT ENTER. "Um," said Beth. "Is this safe? This doesn't look safe. Do we have to walk through this to get to the school? Can't we go around?" She looked at the crumbling ruins of the castle. Many rocks were teetering, and would surely fall on their heads with the slightest vibration.

Kingsley, still charging ahead, looked at her askance. Then he boomed, "Oh! Of course, you can't see it because of the anti-muggle wards. I don't know how to undo those, sorry. I'm sure someone in the castle can. Come on, it's fine. Whatever you're seeing is just an illusion."

The crumbling castle was far enough away that she had time to think. "At the hospital, the normal hospital, it's like you were controlling the mind of everyone we came across. Do wizards do that a lot? I mean..." That was fucking disturbing was what she meant.

"Mind magic is a specialty of mine," he said, seeming glad to have a different conversational subject. "Legilimency, occlumency, obliviation, memory modification. I'm an Auror, so I'm authorized to use even the imperius curse, but I prefer finesse to that sort of brute force. The imperius curse can force people to do something they don't want to do, but memory modification can make them want to do it." He suddenly froze. John, floating along with them, drifted to a halt as well.

Kingsley turned to Beth. "You believe he's your friend? You believe he's worth saving, and you're helping him of your own free will?"

She nodded, as she was incapable of speech when she realized what he was implying.

"May I check?"

She nodded again.

Kingsley's dark eyes bored into hers, and suddenly various memories fluttered to the surface of her mind: the slightly shabby, formal man who responded to the ad in the pizzeria window, the hard worker, the considerate but odd flatmate, the reliable coworker, the rescuer, the life of the party, the attacker, the rescuer again—

Kingsley abruptly looked away, and Beth's thoughts were her own again.

"The only tampering I found was that imperius curse we already knew about," he said. "But Merlin and Morgana, you're knowingly fighting to save a werewolf that attacked you."

"I'm fighting to save the man who rescued me."

"But—"

"Come on! I don't know how much time we have. He's barely breathing!"

Kingsley seemed frozen. Would she be able to carry John herself? He was much bigger than her, and she'd been running off nothing but adrenaline for hours already.

"That attacker wasn't really him," she tried. "That was just a weird drug interaction."

"That was a real creature," said Kingsley. "I recognized it. It looked and behaved a lot like Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf pack leader. We've been trying to kill that werewolf for years. And now we're trying to save one?"

"Yes," said Beth. "Come on already."

Kingsley stood there blinking. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I'll ask Professor Dumbledore," with the relief of someone shrugging off a burden. "He'll know what to do." Then he finally charged ahead again, while floating John along with his wand, as if free of all doubt.

Beth was the one having difficulty moving forward now, as the crumbling castle had strewn rocks all over the ground, which was also tangled with thorny briars, and treacherous with ankle-twisting rabbit holes. Footing was very difficult.

Kingsley, who was striding forward easily, noticed her difficulty. "Illusions giving you trouble?"

She nodded.

"Come on, hold my hand and close your eyes if it bothers you."

It seemed like madness, but she took his advice and found the going easier. The path felt smooth beneath her feet, although sneaking a peek convinced her she was about to trip. She closed her eyes again. Her feet told her that she went from a path, to steps, to a stone floor, as the air abruptly became warmer.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Kingsley's deep voice boomed when they stopped. "Sorry to wake you so early on New Year's Day, but we need your services. Madam Pomfrey?" There was silence for a while, then an oddly one-sided conversation, as Kingsley seemed to be talking to himself. "He drank a whole bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion while drunk." Pause. "I don't know, a few hours ago?" Pause. "No, she's fine, she's just a muggle, so she can't see the castle properly." Pause. "Because she's his friend who convinced me to bring him here after St. Mungo's turned him away." Pause. "Because he's a werewolf. You knew?" Pause. "Right, we'll get out of your way. Come on." He tugged her across the smooth-feeling floor. "Do you want to lie down? You must be tired. She says you can use a spare bed."

The large hands that pushed her towards a soft bed were gentle, but she still cringed at their touch. He stopped touching her immediately. Once she was in contact with the bed, she sat and then lay down on it, eyes still closed. The sheets felt crisp and smelled clean.

She risked opening her eyes. Early morning light was pouring through the broken roof of the crumbling castle, and she was lying on nothing at all, just hovering over rocky rubble. She closed her eyes again and gripped the smooth sheets, then relaxed her hands.

—-

"Are you awake?"

Beth opened her eyes. John sat on nothing, hovering over a jagged hole in the broken floor. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't deal with the vision of him about to plummet to his death, even if it was an illusion.

"I know you don't want to look at me," he said, his voice breaking. "Can you hear me? I hate to do this to you, but Professor Flitwick said I might be the only real thing you can see and hear in the castle. I'm not a part of the school anymore, I'm just a visitor, so the illusion spells don't include me. Kingsley had to go back to work. I'm sorry, obviously you don't want to talk to me. I told them it was a bad idea. I'm sure they can find someone else. I'll go."

"No! John. Stay. You're alive. I'm so glad you're alive." She tried opening her eyes, but slammed them shut again. "There isn't even a proper floor here. I can't open my eyes, it's like I'm falling. Hold my hand." She reached out blindly. It was quite a while before she felt his hand in hers. She grabbed it and sat up. "Sit next to me, I can feel that this is a bed even if I can't see it." She felt the bed shift as he sat some distance away from her. At least she still had his hand.

"Professor Flitwick said you could try these spectacles. They might let you see through the anti-muggle wards. I'll need my hand back so I can put them on you."

She gave it back grudgingly, then felt his hands very gently putting a pair of spectacles on her. When he secured them behind her ears, the sounds changed completely. Instead of wind whipping through a crumbling castle, there was stillness, and faint echoes in a large room.

"You could try opening your eyes."

She did. Except for disturbing glimpses around the edges of the spectacles, which showed the crumbling castle, she saw a large infirmary with two rows of beds, all empty except for hers. The one next to hers was rumpled. The large windows let in light from a bright grey sky. The stone floor was solid and clean, and the high ceiling looked to be in no danger of caving in.

"They work?"

Beth nodded.

John got off the bed and knelt before her. "I owe you a life debt," he said rather formally, even for him.

"What?"

"You saved my life, so it's yours, for what it's worth. If I ever have an opportunity to help you, I won't hesitate to do so, no matter the cost to myself."

"I have the feeling you would have done that anyway."

"Well. All right, probably, but now it's official."

"John. First of all, get up, sit back beside me, that floor looks hard. Don't be ridiculous, come on." She hauled him up. "You already saved me from two rapists, one of whom would probably have killed me as well, so let's call it even, OK?"

"Two?"

"That young wizard in the private room, and that nightmare one, last night, brought on by that potion."

"But... that was me."

"Of course that monster wasn't you. He didn't even look like you, he had yellow eyes and fangs and claws. And he certainly didn't act like you. You told me wizards can do disguises, so I knew it wasn't you."

"I'm a werewolf, Beth. That monster wasn't some artifact of the unfortunate interaction between the potion and alcohol. He's always with me. I work hard all the time to keep him contained, and I usually succeed, but last night I failed."

"And I thought I've had some bad flatmates."

He turned away. "I'm sorry, I must have set the record as the absolute worst. I'll move out of course. You won't have to spend another moment with me."

"No! That's not what I meant at all. I just mean, it's bad enough sharing a flat with someone you don't like, but sharing your own head? I mean, that's gotta suck."

"As usual, you describe the situation perfectly."

"You do keep him contained, though. I think you actually kind of overcompensate, always doing the opposite of what he would do."

"I don't always. I can't. He's strongest at the full moon. He's stronger than me. He takes over then. I can't stop him. You haven't seen me at the full moon."

"Oh." She thought. "I've known you for six weeks, so there must have been a full moon in there."

"After we tracked down those four Death Eaters who attacked Frank and Alice."

Beth thought. "So after your heroism hunting down villains, then a werewolf took over your body and used it for some sort of villainous rampage. That's—"

"No! Goodness no. I found an abandoned building with a basement I could lock myself into. I warded it with spells to make it absolutely impossible to break out of."

"But... How did you get injured?"

"The wolf doesn't like being locked away, alone. With no one else to attack, he attacks himself. That's what most of these scars are from."

Beth thought. "So the monster that attacked me last night attacks you every month? Good god."

John didn't say anything.

"Mr. Lupin?"

They both turned to look at the woman who had entered the infirmary. Beth could see what he meant about old-fashioned dress in the wizarding world. This witch was dressed modestly enough to be a nun.

"Madam Pomfrey," he greeted her.

"Now that your muggle is awake, can you cease your vigil over her and visit the headmaster, as he asked? He's in his office. The password is wintergreen lifesaver."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." He stood, and turned to Beth. "I'll be back soon." Then he left.

Madam Pomfrey drew her wand and scanned Beth. "Your nap seems to have refreshed you, although your blood sugar is still low. You quite wore yourself out bringing Mr. Lupin here. That can't have been easy for a muggle. I'll have a meal sent up for you. It's past lunchtime, or would you prefer breakfast?"

"Whatever. I am pretty hungry."

Madam Pomfrey walked away and brought back a tray very quickly. It was not a Welsh breakfast, as there was no laverbread.

"Thank you! An English breakfast would hit the spot."

"Scottish," Madam Pomfrey corrected her crisply.

Whatever. Maybe the sausages were a little different. It was delicious.

Madam Pomfrey pulled over a chair which had been facing the rumpled bed next to hers. She sat and spoke as Beth ate. "Mr. Shacklebolt told me what he could of Mr. Lupin's case, but I understand that you were the only witness to the actual event. So that I can provide him with appropriate care, would you please tell me what transpired last night?"

"Well. It was New Year's of course, so we were at a party after work. We got off work at two AM, you see. John, Remus I guess you call him, Mr. Lupin rather, he got pretty drunk. He was the life of the party, but something didn't seem right, so I took him home. We're flatmates."

"Flatmates?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

Beth had the unsettling idea that in this archaic culture, a man and a woman would not be allowed to share a flat unless their parents had arranged their marriage, complete with dowry. "Flatmates," she repeated. "It's a one-bedroom, so he sleeps on the couch. He didn't have anywhere else to stay. He's been a perfect gentleman. Anyway, I thought he was too drunk to apparate, so I took his wand and got us a taxi."

"Thank you," said Madam Pomfrey. "I saw far too many apparition accidents during my healer training."

"So anyway, we got home, and he said he was too drunk to do the silencing spells he usually does so I don't hear him screaming from nightmares. He said they wake him up every night."

"Still?" said Madam Pomfrey sadly.

"Still?" repeated Beth. "How long has he had those?"

"We installed permanent silencing spells in his dormitory when he first came here," she said. "As at age eleven, he was too young to cast them himself. I had hoped... I now see how foolish I was."

"He's had nightmares since he was eleven?"

"Since he was four, I believe. But please, continue."

"Well. He took a spoonful of Dreamless Sleep potion, and fell asleep, but then he woke up, except it wasn't him. It was a creature with yellow eyes and fangs and claws. And he, it, attacked me."

"You need not describe the attack, as Mr. Shacklebolt, who seemed to consider it the only relevant information, already described it in detail. I am more interested in the events that led to the wolf breaking through Mr. Lupin's defenses, and to Mr. Lupin's drastic solution."

"Well. That Dreamless Sleep bottle said not to combine it with alcohol, so that would account for it, I think."

"Combining two sedatives often results in excessively deep sleep, from which the victim may never wake. That does not account for all that transpired last night. I believe that this combination of sedatives sent the human mind of Mr. Lupin into an excessively deep sleep, yet left the wolf that resides in him relatively alert. Different species often have different reactions to potions. Werewolf reactions to potions is a field of research that is rather unexplored," she said dryly. "Perhaps this case study is worthy of publication. If researchers could develop a potion with the opposite effect, sedating the wolf while leaving the human mind awake, that could potentially provide great relief to people suffering from lycanthropy.

"But back to the immediate problem of our Mr. Lupin. You were apparently able to wake his human mind with a question about fruitcake. I must say, I am most impressed with your quick thinking under pressure."

"It was dumb luck, really."

"Whatever it was, I am confident that this situation will not arise again. Mr. Lupin is of course resolved never to combine sedatives."

"Madam Pomfrey," began Beth, although she wasn't quite sure what she meant to say. "Even on a normal day, he doesn't seem quite right. He's always jumpy when woken up. He always seems on high alert. He's always looking out for danger. He never really relaxes."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "What you describe is a completely human reaction to what Mr. Lupin has experienced. How much has he told you of the war?"

"Not much. I know one of his friends was a traitor, and a lot of his friends died."

Madam Pomfrey nodded sadly. "Mr. Lupin and his friends were extraordinarily brave. This school sorts incoming students into separate houses according to their innate qualities. These houses then emphasize and develop those qualities, perhaps while neglecting others. Mr. Lupin and his friends were sorted into Gryffindor, the house of bravery, the house which supplied most of the warriors who volunteered, fought and fell in the war. Gryffindor produces excellent warriors, but perhaps did not adequately prepare them to live their lives in peacetime.

"In cases like Mr. Lupin's, follow-up care with a mind healer is recommended, but I'm afraid there is a shortage of mind healers qualified to assist in his particular situation. Our healer's oath requires us to assist those individuals who are classified as beings. Providing assistance to those classified as dark creatures is up to each healer's discretion, as you discovered at St. Mungo's. I don't know of a mind healer willing to treat werewolves."

Madam Pomfrey sighed again. "I'm sure that caring friends, combined with his usual Gryffindor courage, will serve him well. I'm so glad Mr. Lupin found a friend in the muggle world. I've been quite worried about him. Promise me you'll take good care of him?"

"I promise. Absolutely no combining Dreamless Sleep potion with alcohol anymore."

"I believe he understands that now. I was thinking in more general terms. Simply be a friend to him. Mr. Lupin is the sort of person who needs friends around him. He is loyal to a fault. I'm afraid not all the friends he made here were worthy of such loyalty."

"I'll be a good friend to him," said Beth. "I'll take care of him. I promise."

Madam Pomfrey smiled and patted her arm. "Then I feel confident sending him home with you, Miss Smyth. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

John came back as Beth was finishing her meal.

"Mr. Lupin, I've just been talking with Miss Smyth. I'm very glad you found such an excellent friend in the muggle world. I also feel that I must apologize on behalf of the entire healing profession for the terrible service you experienced at St. Mungo's. I assure you that not all their healers are so closed-minded, but I'm afraid that finding the right one can be a matter of luck. It's shameful that a healer refused you the treatment that even a muggle knew you deserved."

"Beth didn't know I'm a werewolf. Muggles don't even know what they are."

"She knew the important things," said Madam Pomfrey, patting his arm. "Now, as you both seem fully recovered, you may go. I'm releasing you into Miss Smyth's care, Mr. Lupin. Don't hesitate to contact me if you are ever in need. Best wishes to you both in the new year, and do keep in touch.

"Best wishes to you as well, Madam Pomfrey," said John.

Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office, leaving John and Beth alone.

"What did the headmaster have to say?"

He shrugged. "Now that I helped win the war, the next task for my bravery is winning the peace. The greatest power in the world is love. His usual bullshit. I used to think that old man was wise. Sirius fooled him as easily as anyone. Anyway, if you feel up to it, we can get out of here. I'll need my wand back to apparate us."

Beth handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said. "We'll have to walk outside the anti-apparition wards."

"I know, Kingsley explained. Can I get a tour first? I've never been to a magical school before."

"I'm sorry," he said. "That would just make things harder. You'll be able to see a bit on our way out."

It was so unusual for him to say no to anything she requested, she didn't argue, just followed him out of the castle. It looked magnificent, with many staircases and passages leading off in mysterious directions. The grounds were grand, with beautiful views, but he didn't linger to enjoy them, just hurried them along.

"You're eager to get home," she observed.

He paused for a while, then said " _Hiraeth_."

She waited for a spell to take effect, but nothing happened. He hadn't been holding his wand when he said it, anyway. "What does that mean?"

He didn't answer.

She could tell she hadn't guessed quite right. She tried again. "Too many memories here?" she tried. "Of lost friends?"

He nodded. Then he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.

She tried to put an arm around him, but he shied away as if from an attack. "We're still in the wards," he choked out. "We can't appparate yet."

"I just... Never mind." They walked the rest of the way in silence.

When they walked through a gate guarded by statues of winged boars, he stopped. "Professor Flitwick said you could leave the spectacles here."

She took them off, and the gate, boars, and castle disappeared. Even the spectacles disappeared, although she could still feel them in her hand.

John took the feeling of them out of her hand, and seemed to perform a pantomime of putting them on one of the invisible statues. "I'll take you back to your flat now," he said. "I'm sorry, it's a long way. It will be very uncomfortable."

"I know. Just take me to the alley, I'll throw up there, our usual routine. It's a good thing we have New Year's Day off to recuperate."

They slipped their arms around each other in their usual way, and after far too much of that unpleasant squeezing, whirling sensation, she was in the familiar alley, John's arm holding her upright as she lost that excellent breakfast. What a waste.

John used his wand to clean up and open the doors. Once in their flat, he asked, "Are you all right? Can you stand?" When she nodded, he let go, and took the sheets off the couch as he usually did when he woke up.

Next he took down the Christmas decorations and put them back in Sirius's trunk.

"Oh, I should give you your Christmas cards back." She handed them to him. "Even with the decorations down, I thought you might like to put these up, remind you that your friends care about you, you know."

He took them from her and threw them in the trash. "Christmas is over," he said. He headed to the kitchen and took down the decorations there too.

"We could use some tea," she said. "I could make it. You don't have to do everything yourself."

He took out his tea set and packed it in his trunk.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Packing."

"What? You're not leaving, are you? You can't leave. Madam Pomfrey released you into my care, she said. I promised her I'd be your friend. I'll take care of you."

"My father was right. Dark creatures don't have friends. Me trying to have friends can only end in disaster."

"Your father's wrong. I'm your friend, John. I'll be your friend for life."

"No."

"Yes I am."

"I mean, don't be. I can't let you. It's too dangerous, being my friend. My friends die. I owe you a life debt, so I have to protect you. I can't let you be my friend."

She laughed. "Oh yeah? Try to stop me."

John pointed his wand at her. " _Obliviate_."

—-

The pizzeria's unexpected closing sucked, but Beth would carry on. First order of business was to buy a newspaper and look at want ads. She headed out into the unseasonably cold weather. Oddly, most businesses were closed. She finally found a newsstand to sell her a paper.

She looked at the date. It said January 1, 1982. Was this a mistake? A joke? Yet looking around, all the shops were closed for New Year's Day, what was left of it, for the sun was setting.

What had happened to December? The pizzeria had closed on the last day of November, which was why she'd been worried about December's rent, which she could pay, as long as she didn't eat...

She rushed home to look at her checkbook. She'd paid December's rent, and January's, somehow. Where had the money come from? There was money in her account, if her balance book was to be believed. There were no records of pay stubs. She'd made irregular deposits of cash.

A whole month couldn't just go missing. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Had she taken some weird drug on New Year's Eve that messed up her memory? Had she taken it willingly? It didn't seem like something she'd do, but what would the police say if she went to them?

Anyway, the pizzeria was closed, and as far as she knew she didn't have a job. What did she have for interview clothes? She searched her closet. Where had these silver shoes come from? They looked like stripper shoes. She could tell they were ridiculously uncomfortable even without trying them on. She had been considering stripping, if she got desperate enough for money. Had she got these shoes for that? Had she actually done it?

The phrase "date rape drug" floated through her mind. She had a horrible suspicion of where that missing month had gone. She desperately tried to recall anything at all. There was a slight ache in her ribs, as from an overenthusiastic hug. What was that from? She found a memory, not really of an event, just of a collection of sensations: extreme dizziness, disorientation, a man's arm tight around her as she vomited.

That was bad.

Her flat was absolutely spotless, as if someone had tried to erase all evidence of a crime. The living room looked particularly empty, as if missing something. Her cat had no answers.

She threw the painful-looking shoes in the trash.

 _Hiraeth (n.) a Welsh word which means a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past._


End file.
